Dance On The Strings
by Clarounette
Summary: A little boy has just been born in Atlantis. The Fates are deciding what will happen to him when a little mistake brings on new possibilities... Besides the prologue and the epilogue, there are two parts that can be read in any order. Mostly Pythacarus.
1. Prologue

Clotho's hands danced on the thin thread, rolling it between the pulp of her index finger and her thumb, pulling on it; unfolding a person's life and winding it around her spindle. Although her eyes were on the rising sun as Apollo rode his carriage across the dark blue sky, she could only see, in her mind, the baby boy whose life was spinning between her thighs – the boy who was born seven days before and who would be named today. Atlantis may be a long way from Mount Olympus, but nothing could escape the Goddess's gaze.

"So thin, so fragile," Lachesis said as she carefully picked up one end of the thread to measure it. Clotho's younger sister stared at it with widened eyes and a gaping mouth, as if she witnessed the miracle of birth itself.

A snort came from Clotho's left. "After all these years, do you still wonder at the thread of life?" Atropos asked.

As Clotho looked at her, a timid sunbeam shone on the shears Atropos was twirling with her deft and lethal hands. For an instant, the terrible intrument that ended all human lives burned white in the sunlight, and dark as night in the next. Cold fingers ran down Clotho's back and made her shiver. Under Atropos' glare, she went back to work dutifully.

"Where am I to cut?" her older sister asked Lachesis matter-of-factly.

Clotho blinked but said nothing. That Atropos could be blasé about their work was as astonishing as Lachesis' genuine marvel – at least for Clotho. The sense of their responsibilities weighed on her shoulders. Their duty was to decide every human's fate, and to draw it on a barely visible thread.

Holding out one like a newborn bird, Lachesis showed the place with a light finger. "Here. It is long enough. He will have a long and good life."

"Then I shall end it." Atropos cut the thread and wrapped it around the spindle, careful not to sever it. As she was winding the boy's last years, she froze, a deep frown on her brow. "Clotho?"

Even as she was starting on another life, a new spindle spinning wildly between her legs, Clotho had been watching her sister out of the corner of her eye, but when she heard her name, she raised her head. "Yes, dear sister?"

"What do you make of this?" Atropos asked, showing the stick to Clotho.

Although there was no scorn in her sister's voice, Clotho knew something wasn't right. She looked at the thread and, in the middle of the boy's twenties, another strand, shorter, came out of the main thread. She brushed it with a tentative finger. "It's a mistake, surely. It never happened before." Like an old bone sticking out of a fresh grave, it pointed at her accusingly.

Lachesis bent over her sisters' shoulders and stared at it. "What does it mean?"

That was the question that churned Clotho's guts. She knew enough of her craft to understand that such a mistake could have terrible consequences on the person's life, but had no clue about what it meant exactly. She nervously bit her nails, punishing her fingers for betraying her – and the boy.

"Clotho?"

"It means only one thing; this boy can have two destinies. Where the thread becomes two, there lies an event that will decide his end." She couldn't imagine any other explanation.

Atropos opened and closed her shears fast. "I shall end this too."

Her sister's calm decision fell like earth on a coffin in the quiet room. With a resounding click, the little strand, nothing more than a stub before, became even shorter. A heavy silence followed for a short while.

"Will he have two lives?" Lachesis asked, still transfixed by the thread. Her nervous hand clutched Clotho's shoulder.

Clotho felt herself shaking her head like in a dream while guilt dug a hole in her heart. "Something will happen that'll choose his fate for him." She wished she knew how to fix this. For the first time, she felt the limits of her powers as a Goddess of Fate.

"That can't be," Lachesis decided. Her eyes had narrowed down to pinholes, and she was gnawing her lips, drawing blood. As Clotho glanced at her, she turned around and walked away.

While she watched her sister head to the other side of the room, Clotho wanted to tell her that they had no choice, that something – a greater Fate, a more powerful God – had decided for them, guiding her hands to commit this mistake, but not a sound escaped her tightened lips.

Lachesis came back, another spindle with another life's thread wound around it in her hands, that she held out to Clotho. "I link this life with that one. Let their destinies be intertwined. Let this boy have one more shot at happiness."

Clotho kept silent. A tendril of hope had wrapped itself around her throat. She swallowed audibly. "Can you do that?" she wondered, as her heart swelled inside her chest.

"I can do anything for I'm a Goddess!" Lachesis' naivety felt like fresh air in the stifling tension of the room, her laugh like pearls of ice.

Clotho indulged her sister's creativity. What was the worse that could happen?

"Whose life is it?"

"It is of a boy named Pythagoras, born in Samos two years ago."

Clotho sighed before she tied the threads together in a tight knot. "So be it."

.

In the bedroom, upstairs, his wife enjoyed the respite she deserved so much after another fitful night. Life with a newborn was mostly sleepless, Daedalus had noticed. Thankfully, sleep was not a thing he needed much. While the mother tried to slip a couple of hours of rest between two fits of crying, Daedalus spent the night watching the miracle that was their son like it was another science mystery, which he was, to be honest. How something so small could make so much noise?

To allow his wife her much deserved nap, Daedalus had taken his son to the basement. Flickering candles lit the windowless workshop, throwing shadows of his mobiles and models on the walls. The baby, usually apathetic when he wasn't sleeping or crying, stared at the moving silhouettes with curious eyes and, to Daedalus' surprise, displayed his first smile.

"You're only seven days old, my boy! I feel it's a sign that you'll be precocious and smart like your father." A thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Seven days! I totally forgot."

Of course, he could argue that he had been busy with his latest project; that his wife should have remembered. But those were all excuses, and they couldn't ease the guilt he felt at forgetting to name his child.

"What was it that your mother suggested? I can't remember... Ah, yes!" He raised his child in the air and looked right into his eyes. "Your name is Icarus!"

The baby smiled once again at his father, oblivious to what Fate had in store for him.


	2. Sorrows of your life Part1

At the edge of the balcony, Icarus stood on shaky legs. On his spread arms, wings of wax and papyrus. He was not ready at all.

His father was giving him his last recommendations. "Don't flap, glide." Daedalus' excitement made his speech hesitant, as if his words bumped into each other in his mind and he needed to speak slowly to rearrange them.

Icarus barely listened to him, especially when it proved unnecessary, like his warning about the sun in the middle of the night. Only one thing kept running through his head: Pythagoras' face, wet with tears, telling him he would never be forgiven.

He had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. Who would he rather watch die? No one, if he had a say in the matter. But he had none. Leaving his father in a cell meant a certain death, and he couldn't let it happen.

Under Goran's merciless gaze, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind that could appeal to Pasiphae's general. "I have news... Of Ariadne." It worked. Goran's orders became questions, a sparkle of interest burning in his dark eyes.

Taken by surprise, instead of telling artful lies, Icarus confessed everything he knew, except Pythagoras' name: their hiding place, the direction they were headed. What a fool. He sold his soul to save his father from certain death, and for what? Merely a delay, as Daedalus was to remain in his cell. Guilt and despair gnawed on his guts with angry teeth while he fought against the tears welling in his eyes.

As he left the hall, he came to a realisation – Jason had a chance to escape, considering his reputation. Icarus just had to hope that nothing bad would happen to Pythagoras. If he died, Icarus would follow him to the grave in an instant.

His prayer was answered though, and Pythagoras came back safe, although angry. He had the right to be, for sure. An angry Pythagoras was better than a dead one. Icarus only wished Pythagoras would understand the dilemma he had been faced with. He may have had a choice, but one he couldn't make. He had let the events go their own way, hoping for the best. If the best meant that Pythagoras would never forgive him, he would endure.

Pythagoras' teary eyes filled his mind and gave him some courage. Atlantis lay below, plunged into darkness, a black hole that asked of him a leap of faith if he wanted to help Pythagoras – a life for a life, tit for tat. Icarus had agreed to test the wings his father had built and to launch pouches of firepowder on Jason's enemies. Not to redeem himself – he knew he was past redemption – but to save Pythagoras, now that he could finally do something.

He glanced once more at the sleeping city and dizziness made him wobble on his feet. Ice-cold fear flooded into his veins, the idea of the fall freezing his blood and paralysing his limbs. He must jump though. He looked into the distance and then closed his eyes in a silent prayer. _I love you. I always have._ He breathed in and out, the fresh night air numbing his thoughts, and, with one last recall of Pythagoras' lovely face drenched in tears, he jumped into a void.

He screamed, certain he was falling to his death, until a gush of wind swept him away. He could hear his screams turn into laughs. The wind in his face, the sensation of weightlessness... If birds felt like this, it was no wonder why they sang happily day and night. Flying on air streams, he headed downtown to find Pythagoras.

Icarus saw a garrison assailing a warehouse, and he assumed Jason was there. He dropped a pouch on the soldiers who thereafter disappeared in an explosion. Feeling like Hephaestus, he poured fire on the earth, letting the flames lick Atlantis' walls and purify its streets of Pasiphae's poison. Elated, Icarus soared, staring at the moon, thinking maybe – _maybe_ – he could reach her.

He heard a commotion below him – from the ground, the ever confining ground – and came back to the scene, tearing off his eyes from the shining globe with great difficulties. He let go of another bag of firepowder on the unsuspecting soldiers who ran around aimlessly. In the middle of the chaos, he glimpsed at Pythagoras among Jason's group. His friend – the man he loved – was still alive and safe, and Icarus would make sure he stayed that way.

Just as he flew back, he heard Pythagoras call his name, but to no avail. An arrow pierced his wings, shredding them, and then he was falling to the ground.

It is said that one's whole life passes in front of one's eyes in the face of death. Icarus went through his whole relationship with Pythagoras, through all those years of silent pining, their first meeting when Pythagoras visited Daedalus, Pythagoras' lightened face – the face that made Icarus fall in love helplessly – when he talked about science, their late night conversations together with a jar of wine. There would be no more. His mind formed one last wish. _May Pythagoras stay safe and leave the city unharmed._

The hard cold ground took his breath away, and that was the only reason he didn't howl in pain. Each broken bone sent bolts of agony through his body while his organs shut down one after another. Hades was welcoming him with open arms. _I'm sorry, father. I failed you_ , was his last thought. Then darkness swallowed him forever.

.

"Icarus!" Pythagoras shouted when the soldier shot at him. The arrow went straight through the wings. Pythagoras' next breath caught in his lungs as he watched his friend spining downward. When Icarus disappeared behind a high roof, Pythagoras' legs moved on their own and he ran toward where Icarus had fallen, his heart hammering in his chest. His last words to his friend kept repeating in his mind. In these uncertain moments, forgiveness seemed so easy to offer, and his promise sounded empty. Of course he would forgive Icarus, because he loved him. It would take time, but they would get there.

Time was what he had not. He went around the corner of the street and found Icarus lying on the ground, his wings shattered and his head bent in an awkward angle. The full moon threw an ominous dark shroud on his face. The air that had been stuck in Pythagoras' chest came out in a desperate whisper. "No."

He experienced an out-of-the-body moment. Fear had frozen him right where he stood, and yet he saw himself stumble toward the lying shape, dropping his sword even though he still felt the cold metal in his hand. It was a dream, surely, more like a nightmare. And then, the moment was gone. Advancing like in a pit of mud, he walked toward Icarus, one heavy foot in front of another.

Pythagoras fell on his knees beside his friend and put a hand on his chest, hoping against hope that he was wrong. A minute or two passed, and Icarus' chest didn't move.

Pythagoras' ribcage tightened around his heart and lungs, squeezing his poor organs to a pulp. He couldn't breathe. The world itself was now empty of air, of everything he thought as vital. He brushed the slowly cooling skin of Icarus' face with a trembling hand. Icarus' expression frozen on surprise hurt his heart. The man would never smile again – that happy smile that made him look younger than he was, the smile of a kid who knew nothing of sadness and hard times. Although now Pythagoras would always remember Icarus' quivering lips, a whispered plea carried by a shaky breath. He had refused to answer it, and now he would never have another chance. Icarus had given his life to save Pythagoras, Jason and the others, and he had died thinking he could never be forgiven when, in this instant, he already was.

As Pythagoras bent over and kissed Icarus' cold lips – the only kiss they would ever share – someone cleared their throat and made him jump. "If you're quite finished..." Hercules said from the corner of the street.

Pythagoras had forgotten about the others, about the threat of unbearable torments at the hand of Pasiphae if they were caught. His safety was the last thing in Pythagoras' mind. The world could burst into flames, for all he cared. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

Hercules looked at him expectantly, glancing at Icarus' immobile figure.

Pythagoras shook his head, salty drops of water flying from his eyes. He feared that, if he was to open his mouth, his words would dissolve instantly in painful sobs.

Hercules' lips turned down in a grimace of pain as his hand ran through his short hair. He made a gesture to reach for Pythagoras, but instead clenched his fist with helplessness. When Pythagoras gave no sign of following him, he came to him and took him by the elbow. "Come, Pythagoras. We have to flee the city."

Pythagoras resisted feebly. He didn't want to abandon Icarus in the middle of the alley, his body exposed. He attempted to carry him on his back, but Hercules stopped him. "We don't have the time. I'm sorry for Icarus, and for you. But we must go!" Crying, he was dragged behind Hercules until they met with the rest of the group just outside of Atlantis' gates.


	3. Sorrows of your life Part2

The strong feeling of déjà vu put a tired smile on Jason's lips. It was only yesterday when they last woke up on hard cold earth, the canopy of old trees as roof and their trunk as walls. They had had barely a day of respite – and hope – before being on the run again. Looking at his feet as he stomped on dead leaves and dry moss, Jason sighed bitterly. When would it end? When would he defeat Pasiphae once and for all?

Seeking some comfort from his friends, he turned to Pythagoras who was walking behind him, but the man was staring into space, blue eyes gleaming but a blank expression on his face. Hercules, a couple of feet away from him, was wringing his hands even as he walked, occasionally tripping on roots and stumps because he was looking only at Pythagoras.

Jason turned back as his brow furrowed. Something had happened when Pythagoras and Hercules left the group, something that hurt Pythagoras enough to distress Hercules. He wanted nothing more than to sit with his friend and ask him what happened, but he had a group to lead into the forest to a safer place, before Pasiphae sent more soldiers after them.

When he looked up at the sky to guess their direction, the forest seemed darker. Dangerous. He rubbed his belly nervously. Dread had begot a hungry and wiggly worm that ate at his guts.

They settled in a clearing long before sunset and they had plenty of time to build a big fire in the middle of their little camp. They did so in silence, not even sparing a glance at each other, tension making the tiny hair on their arms stand up with electricity. There were signs of a storm to come, although Jason knew that the agitation didn't come from the sky. A lot of talking was needed, but he had more pressing matters to attend for now. On a log far away from the fire, hidden in the darkness, Pythagoras sat, rocking himself back and forth. Hercules had joined him for a while, patting his back in an awkward gesture of comfort, but Pythagoras hadn't even looked at him.

The worm of fear in Jason's belly had feasted and it hurt as his guts tightened. For as long as he'd had to fight against Pasiphae and her evil plans, Jason had relied heavily on Pythagoras – and Hercules, when the man didn't try to screw up everything for a woman or a bottle of wine. Right now, when their situation was the worst, with Pasiphae back on Atlantis' throne and no chance of overcoming her, all he could think of, though, was the pain Pythagoras was going through.

Jason picked up a blanket on his way to Pythagoras and sat beside him. So far from the fire, the night air chilled his bones. He shivered before wrapping both of them in the thick cloth.

"Tell me," he said as he rubbed some warmth in his friend's shoulders.

Pythagoras' whimper woke up the hungry worm in his guts. It sounded so foreign in Pythagoras' usually lively voice.

Jason snuggled closer to him. "It's about Icarus, isn't it?" He had seen the hurt in his friend's eyes when he announced that the man was a traitor, and had understood it for what it was: Icarus was more than just a friend, which was a scary thought in itself. Jason knew the story of the boy who flew toward the sun and disappeared into the sea. His only solace was that Minos was dead and couldn't send away Daedalus and his son. Icarus' fate had changed, right? Or, like Medusa...

Pythagoras burst in heartwrenching sobs, his body shaking against Jason's side.

"What's wrong?"

"After he," Pythagoras sniffed. "After he helped us in Atlantis, he fell. He..." Pythagoras took a shaky breath in as he looked up at Jason with eyes red from crying too much, for too long. "He's dead." His voice broke on the last word.

Dead. A weight settled on Jason's back and he slouched under the guilt. His mission to ruin Pasiphae's plans had cost them another life, and had broken another heart. What's more, it was Pythagoras' heart, the purest heart Jason had ever known. A heart so vast and full of love that everybody had their place in it, and a cozy one.

What good did his presence do if he couldn't save their friends? He swallowed a lump in his throat. Did it mean that his mission was already doomed? That he could never save Atlantis?

His next words ground with desperation and left a salty taste on his tongue. "I'm so sorry, my friend." He wrapped a comforting arm around Pythagoras' shoulders. "So sorry," he repeated. Words failed him at expressing his deep sorrow.

Pythagoras seemed to undestand his struggle and didn't ask for more. He burried his head in the crook of Jason's neck and cried his heart out.

When Pythagoras' tears dried out, Jason kissed his forehead. "You should sleep," he said. "I'll be over there if you need anything."

Pythagoras rubbed his eyes and offered the most piteous smile Jason had ever seen. "Thank you," he replied with a tired voice. He gathered dead leaves at his feet for a pillow and curled up on the ground.

Jason waited for his breath to even and covered him with the blanket. He went back to the campfire, where Hercules welcomed him with a grateful nod. The others were already asleep, little heaps of clothes and flesh around the fire, and Jason joined them, although his slumber was fitful and filled with nightmares – beheadings and falls from the sky.

.

When he emerged from a night full of silent tears and little sleep, Pythagoras was confronted with Jason's decision to sail to Colchis and retrieve the Golden Fleece to defeat Pasiphae.

Pasiphae, Atlantis... In his current state of grief, they were nothing more than words. They bore no meaning to him. He understood Jason's endeavour to put an end to his mother's reign, and it was certainly courageous of him to brave Colchis' dangers to do so, but he saw no reason to risk his life when he couldn't care less about the city. If he were to spend the rest of his existence far away in his friends' company, he would be happy enough. That wasn't the plan, though.

"I won't come with you," he announced.

Hercules stared at him like he had grown a second head. "Are you mad?"

Pythagoras couldn't bear the accusation he saw in his eyes – a reflection of his own state of mind, probably nothing else – and looked at his feet. "I won't go back to Atlantis either." New tears welled up in his eyes. "I don't have anything to fight for, now, and I was never much of a fighter anyway." He wiped his cheeks. "I'm sorry to leave you in such a dire situation, but I'm sure you'll manage without me."

"What will you do?" Jason asked as he put a hand on Pythagoras' shoulder.

That was something he hadn't thought about. He just wanted to be anywhere but here. He shrugged. "I heard Egypt has plenty of mathematicians. Maybe I could pursue my studies."

Hercules, pouting, said nothing. He retreated under a birch where, slouched against the old and gnarled bark, he looked lost in thoughts – a state so rare that Pythagoras worried instantly for his friend. He joined him, the trunk hard and unforgiving against his back.

"I know that it is selfish of me, but..." Pythagoras started, his feet tracing patterns in the dirt.

Hercules refused to even look at Pythagoras.

"You are not at fault, my friend."

"How can you call me your friend when you're on the verge of abandoning me? Abandoning Jason? Ariadne? Everybody else?" Hercules asked in a harsh tone.

The words hit Pythagoras like an arrow to his chest. He gasped. He had lost a friend already, and he didn't want to lose another. "I'm sorry you think that way, Hercules," he said, tilting his head down in shame.

Hercules turned toward him with anger burning in his eyes. "What else should I think? You lose Icarus and, suddenly, we don't matter anymore. Have you thought about Atlantis? About its rightful king and queen and their sacrifice to save the city?" He breathed in and blinked away tears. "About me?"

"You don't understand! I can't –"

"You think I don't understand?" Hercules interrupted him. "Did I abandon you when Jason killed Medusa? I've lost the love of my life too!"

Hercules' pain sent shivers down Pythagoras' spine. Medusa was still a fresh wound, but he had forgotten her – and how he had been an instrument in her death. _How could I have been so insensitive?_ Mouth open and eyes wide, he avoided Hercules' glare, shame burning his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Hercules."

"I understand you better than anyone. I understand your pain and your desire to be alone. What I can't understand is that you give up, that you surrender to those feelings." He took Pythagoras' hands between his own. "Fight, Pythagoras. With us. For Atlantis."

Pythagoras stared at their joined hands, symbol of their friendship, but Hercules' palms seemed cold and hard like stones. Pythagoras' skin felt raw and too tight against his bones. As much as he wanted to follow Hercules' advice – his head was telling him that was the sensible thing to do – his broken heart wouldn't let him. "I can't, I'm sorry." He smiled tiredly, his lips wet with the tears that drenched his face. "I love you, and I love Jason. But I can't go on." He pushed away from the birch, looking everywhere but at Hercules. "I'll go with you to the coast, and then I'll take a boat to Egypt."

He left Hercules, trying to ignore that his friend was crying – but failing – and walked away.

.

The journey to the shore was silent and awkward.

The tension between Jason and Ariadne was palpable, and both kept to themselves.

Hercules could only sulk, and his usually contagious smile had turned into an unhappy frown.

Pythagoras walked behind the group. He had already left them in his head and in his heart. All he could think of was Icarus' body, broken and cold, in the middle of an alley. His friend had left this world for the next one thinking Pythagoras didn't love him. That was, perhaps, the most horrible thing. Pythagoras hadn't had the time to forgive him, and now, it was too late.

The thought gave him a chill and made him shake with grief, but he had no tears left to cry – he had shed too much already.


	4. Sorrows of your life Part3

The group reached Keramoti a little before sunset, as the light of the disappearing star dyed pink ribbons on the village's roofs, and Jason decided to set up camp on the beach. Around the fire, they ate berries and an unknown but seemingly edible meat, quiet and thoughtful. Cassandra couldn't read their minds, but the Gods let her know the struggles they were going through. On the scarlet screen of the fire, images of pain and anger and sadness were revealed, and Cassandra didn't look away.

She saw Jason in between two women – one in red and one in blue, feelings of passion and loathing – searching for a path to Atlantis as his heart bled and red drops pooled at his feet.

She saw Ariadne dressed in white but alone at the altar, hands and feet tied, watching Medea run away with Jason.

More vividly, she saw a young boy with blond hair and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, fighting against a black creature, defeating it, and swimming away. She saw a large man drowning in his sins. They met and saved each other as each became the anchor of the other. But high waves soon separated them, keeping them apart, as black birds flew above their heads.

The visions faded and Cassandra blinked them away. Darkness surrounded her; the sea was black, the sand was black, and the sky was blacker. The fire moved shadows on the sleeping faces of her travel companions.

As loneliness wrapped a cold blanket around her shoulders, her grief became anger. The Gods hadn't deemed important to tell her what would happen to Melas. Cassandra still mourned her mentor and protector. Melas had made mistakes – some of them could still cost them their lives – but he only had her in his mind. She was the reason he betrayed the queen. Guilt was eating her alive; using her gift to help Jason and his friends in their endeavour seemed a mean as good as any other to make amend. Though the Gods had spoken to her, and Jason's quest would require more sacrifices that she wouldn't be able to stop.

As she stared into the fire, sleep swept her away. Sweet relief.

.

Morning came and brought with it the moment they all feared.

Pythagoras and Hercules avoided each other, the oddest couple to ever break up. Their friendship was what had kept them alive all those years. It had pushed away Pythagoras' memories of domestic violence and filled the hole in his heart that leaving Samos and his little brother had created. Hercules had been drinking his life away when they met, and although wine remained a big part of his world, they both knew that Pythagoras kept him grounded – a lifeline when he needed one, immuned to his lies. Despite the strong bond they shared, they'd soon part ways, probably forever. Both deep in their despair, they couldn't even enjoy the last moments they would ever spend together.

They walked to the harbor where they went in search of ships. Jason had no luck, as no one wanted to take him and his group to Colchis. Pythagoras, however, found a boat to Egypt that would sail soon. He sighed, gathering his courage, and grabbed Hercules by his elbow. "I'll see you here in an hour," he said to the others and, dragging an unwilling Hercules behind him, headed downtown.

He opened the door of the first tavern they encountered. It was dark inside, and quite crowded already for such an early time of the day, but they found a table at the back nonetheless. Without a word to Hercules, Pythagoras ordered a flagon of wine and two cups. He was served in an instant; the wine was sour and the cups dirty, but he hadn't come here to drink anyway.

Noticing that Hercules hadn't touched his cup, Pythagoras served him and pushed the wine toward him. Hercules shook his head, crossed his arms over his large chest and looked elsewhere.

"Please, my friend. I don't want to part on bad terms."

"We'll part anyway," Hercules replied.

Pythagoras stared into his cup at the red beverage. It stinked of vinegar, and he didn't know if his head hurt because of the stench, or because of the conversation ahead. He gulped down another mouthful and the drink burned his throat and his belly, clearing his mind.

Pythagoras reached for Hercules and put his hand on his forearm.

"You've been the best friend I've ever had, Hercules. A brother, even. I may have complained about a lot of things –"

"About me drinking too much. About my gambling habits. About the lack of food, of money..." Hercule grumbled.

Pythagoras smiled despite himself. "Yes, about all of that and more." He became serious again. "But I wouldn't change a day of the time we spent together. I love you dearly. You're family to me. Leaving you breaks my heart –"

Hercules finally turned toward him and interrupted him. "Then don't leave!" Tears shone in his eyes.

The squeezing in Pythagoras' guts had nothing to do with the cheap wine he had drunk. "I wish I could! I don't have your strength, nor your courage." He gazed at the lively crowd of the tavern. Did they have troubles too? Was it the reason why they came here? "I'll probably survive Icarus'..." He swallowed loudly, the word trying to stay in his throat, where it wasn't real. "... demise." He turned to Hercules. "But I need time alone, to find my own path. I need to mourn. And sailing towards Colchis, where so many dangers await us, won't leave me time for it."

With tears running down his cheeks, Hercules nodded without looking at him. "I understand that nothing I could say will change your mind. I'll miss you." His voice, usually a trompet of a voice, strong and loud, sounded like that of a shy child.

It was Pythagoras' turn to cry – when he had thought his eyes had dried up. "I'll miss you too, my friend."

Ignoring the embarrassed glances of the tavern's clientele, Pythagoras stood up, walked around the table and took Hercules in his arms, hugging him like his life depended on it. After a few awkward secondes, Hercules returned his embrace.

It was several minutes before they parted. They wiped their faces and exchanged sad smiles.

"It's time," Pythagoras finally said. "Do you want to take the wine? I paid for it, after all."

Hercules drank his cup bottoms up. "This shitty excuse for alcohol? Never! What do you take me for!"

"For my best friend," Pythagoras replied, squeezing Hercules in a one arm hug.

They left the flagon on the table and exited.

.

They met with the others in front of Pythagoras' ship. From afar, Pythagoras had noticed the anxious looks around and their general uneasiness. In the middle of the bustling harbor, they stood out like a sore thumb with their nervous attitude and their acting like a frightened pack of stray dogs.

They relaxed as soon as they saw Hercules and him smiling.

Jason strode to him. "They're about to leave," he said before hugging him. "Are you sure?"

There was no turning back. Pythagoras nodded.

"You were the first person I met in Atlantis, and your help and friendship have been precious to me ever since. You'll be missed, triangle guy."

Tightly held by Jason's arms, Pythagoras enjoyed these few moments of warmth. They chased away some of the coldness that had settled in his heart with Icarus' death.

Jason released him and looked right into his eyes while cupping his face. "I hope you find peace and happiness, wherever you go. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Jason. It means a lot to me."

Jason winked at him and let him go.

Ariadne was next. "I want to thank you for everything you've done and risked for me." She kissed his cheek and he felt his face flush with embarrassement. Though their relationship had been friendly, they had never shared such an intimate moment. Ariadne's sincerity brought new tears to his eyes.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"My Queen, I thank you." Pythagoras bowed slightly.

Pythagoras was about to board when Cassandra stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "The Gods have spoken."

"What have they said?" he asked, dread shaking his voice.

She closed her eyes and squeezed his flesh between trembling fingers. "You must learn about life and death, then you'll meet again."

Pythagoras' heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, my vision has darkened," she replied as her eyes opened. "The Gods didn't let me know the meaning of their message. You'll have to find out the truth behind those words."

Pythagoras nodded, waved one last time at his friends, and went on the boat. Only when all of them were but speckles of dirt on the horizon did he allow himself to crumble in tears.


	5. Sorrows of your life Part4

Sais baked under the Mediterranean sun but the streets Pythagoras was strolling through looked too dim and full of odd shadows, as if something was lurking in the darkness. The constant hubbub coming from the market place and the harbor both, and the Nile's loud rumble were drowned by the words that kept replaying in his mind. _Atlantis has disappeared._

When Pythagoras opened the door of the house he shared with Thales, he welcomed the sudden silence with a sigh and the inside chillness with a shiver. Relief didn't last though, as Thales peeked around his room's door, his large friendly face inquisitive behind a thick grey beard. Sometimes, when Pythagoras looked at him, it felt like Hercules had finally carried out his plan of growing a beard to become unrecognizable. In those moments, he missed his friend. Another shiver shook him; what had happened to Hercules?

Unfortunately, Sonchis hadn't been able to tell him much about his friends' fate. The old priest had hugged him when he arrived at the temple of Neith for his daily medicine lesson, but the embrace had left a bad aftertaste: it had been too long and too tight. Fear had suffused Pythagoras' thoughts instantly.

"You're back early," Thales noticed.

As much as he liked the old mathematician – three years was a long time to live with someone without developping some kind of feeling – he never opened to him completely. Pythagoras hadn't had much luck in friendship until now, and he refused to let someone else plant their roots in his heart. But Thales' worries were genuine; he deserved an answer.

"Sonchis had some news from Atlantis."

"Oh."

Thales' non-intrusive reply spurred Pythagoras into elaborating. "The city has been flooded. Nothing's left." With the words came the images of Atlantis' sturdy walls crumbling under the strain of waves too strong. Of Jason and Hercules drowning. Of his past disappearing under the sea. Under the ocean. A memory struck him and he widened his eyes. _Jason knew. He had known from the start._

Thales put a warm hand on Pythagoras' shoulder. "I'm sorry, my young friend." He retreated in his room.

Left alone in the hall, Pythagoras let go of his restraint and cried, for the first time in three years.

.

Rolls of papyrus covered their table. Pythagoras listened to Thales with attention, bent over the piece of potery Thales was drawing on.

"You see, if you use a 5 foot stick in this way and you measure the distance from the object, you can figure out its height." With broad strokes, Thales traced a triangle.

Despite the old man's fascinating geometry lessons, Pythagoras was no closer to find the answer to the mysteries of the triangle he had been seeking for too long. He remained hopeful only because Jason had called him 'triangle guy', and his friend seemed to have known things from their future.

Jason... Since the horrible news about Atlantis two years before, Pythagoras' mind had kept coming back to Jason and Hercules, and to the happy life in their small house in Atlantis. Everything was gone. Dead.

"Are you listening?"

Thales' question startled him. "Sorry! Please, continue."

Thales put down his stylus. "When you came to me, willing to learn everything about geometry and mathematics, I was more than happy to become your teacher. You're a capable student." He scratched his thick mop of grey hair. "To be honest, I hoped that working with you would help me get deeper into the truth of life and death. It's hidden somewhere inside these," he said, grabbing an armful of rolls.

Pythagoras' thoughts drifted away once again. "You must learn about life and death, and you'll meet again," Cassandra had said. Did she mean Hercules? Jason? Or even Icarus? _I must ask Sonchis._ He stood up and left the house for the temple, ignoring Thales' calls.

.

"Are you sure?" Thales asked.

Was he? Sonchis had told him about the stories coming from Thrace, and new intringuing words: reincarnation, transmigration. His project to sail to the far away kingdom had been blessed, and Pythagoras saw no reason to give up now. "I am." He shook Thales' hand, making sure to keep him at arms' distance. "I thank you for everything you taught me."

"I hope your soul find peace, my young friend."


	6. Sorrows of your life Part5

The whole tribe formed a circle around the tomb where old Dareios was lying. They were chanting. "I am a son of Earth and starry sky. I am parched with thirst and am dying; but quickly grant me cold water from the Lake of Memory to drink." Mostis, the priest, knelt beside the open grave and slipped a coin in the dead's mouth, a Maenad figurine by his side and a golden leaf between his hands. Pythagoras had seen the priest work on the leaf; Mostis had engraved instructions for Dareios in his afterlife.

For the past six months, Pythagoras had been living with the Thracian tribe, learning much about burying rituals with Mostis. The man looked like he had reached a hundred years a few decades ago, his skin withered and as thick as leather, his hair whiter than foam; yet Pythagoras had seldom seen so much energy in a human being. He also answered every question with kindness, and that was all Pythagoras needed of him.

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, he dreamed of Neapolis though, imagining its walls and houses and temple. When he arrived in Thrace, he heard of Neapolis' king, Jason, and his wife, Ariadne. The city, built on the outskirts of the former city of Atlantis, was flourishing. There were news of Hercules too, who was accomplishing incredible labours across the kingdom. Pythagoras mourned only one person now: Icarus. Love had been banished from his heart since Icarus' fall. But Cassandra had told him the words of the Gods: they should meet again some day, if only he discovered the truth about life and death.

When the grave was filled and the funerary stele planted, Pythagoras retreated inside Mostis' house.

"You promised you would tell me the origin of your beliefs at the next burial." Pythagoras had to fight against the eagerness that made his voice's pitch too high.

The priest sat down in front of the fire and invited Pythagoras to join him with a wave of his hand, not even looking at him. "That I promised, and I shall respect my words." He nodded, the tendons in his neck almost audibly creaking, threatening to break under the strain.

Pythagoras waddled with excitement and settled on the hard ground, on the other side of the fire. The flames crackled and he feared they would cover Mostis' weary voice. He bent forward, coming as close to the fire as he dared.

"Orpheus came back from Hades after he went there to look for his wife, and brought us the story of Dyonisus who was dead and born again. We believe every human being does the same, either as another human being or as an animal. And so, in a spiral of life and death, we get closer to the Gods until they welcome us in their kingdom," Mostis said in one go, barely breathing in after the word 'animal'.

Hearing the name of Orpheus flooded Pythagoras' mind with memories. _He went to look for her._ Knowing now what the old and blind man had gone through for love, Pythagoras felt guilty for not doing the same for Icarus.

As if he had read his thoughts, Mostis shook his head. "Orpheus failed at bringing back Eurydice though."

Pythagoras gasped; a strong feeling of grief sent a chill to his bones. Death was Fate, and Fate was undefeatable. How learning about life and death could help him see Icarus again?

.

For several years, Pythagoras travelled from tribe to tribe, each one suscribing to a slightly different version of the same core of beliefs. Sometimes, the instructions for the dead were written on bones. Sometimes, Orpheus wasn't part of the story.

Based on those, he developed his own concept of metempsychosis. Souls, bound to the cycle of rebirth, came back in the bodies of either humans or animals, therefore consuming animals was a serious crime. If Pythagoras was right, Icarus could already be back, and, as the Gods had decided, they would meet again. He searched for him in babies' face, in every dog he saw. With no luck. Frustration never settled in his mind though: he trusted the Gods. It would happen at the right time.

One day, Pythagoras decided to go back to Samos for a while. With getting older, visiting his brother seemed more and more important – one never knew when the time to say goodbye would come. And regrets lasted a lifetime.


	7. Sorrows of your life Part6

Arcas welcomed him and offered him a room in his house for as long as he needed.

He reacquainted himself with the town he had spent his early years in. Samos seemed smaller, almost constricting. The sea smelled of rotting fish and the air was stiffling. Everyday, Pythagoras walked through another part of Samos, another labyrinth of streets and alleys that looked pretty much the same as the others.

During one of his strolls, he walked past a blacksmith's shop. The men were striking anvils with their tools, producing harmonious sounds that intrigued Pythagoras. He observed them for some time before rushing back home. He locked himself in his room.

When he didn't come out the next day, Arcas knocked on his door. "Dear brother, are you feeling well?" Arcas asked, his voice muffled through the thick wood of the door.

Pythagoras didn't look away from his pieces of potery. Diagrams and numbers covered them. Something about sound and length... "Would you be so kind and help me?"

"Anything!"

"Could you bring me strings and shears?"

When he finally reappeared days later – hair dishevelled, dark circles under his eyes, a few pounds lighter – Pythagoras had a theory about music and mathematics he was proud of. He went downstairs to the kitchen and ate everything on the shelves, in front of his astonished brother.

.

The quiet life in Samos with his brother almost made him forget Icarus, but the Gods hadn't forgotten him.

One sunny day, Pythagoras wandered to a remote part of the town, abandoned from its inhabitants. He sat on a collapsed wall and watched the sea from afar. A tweet from above made him level up his eyes: a small bird was perched on the roof. It was grey and red, with dark eyes, and was looking at him. After one more tweet – Pythagoras could have sworn it was saying hello – it flew to him and landed on the wall beside him.

At once, feelings that he had banished years before assailed him and he gasped. He remembered hugs and gentle gestures, brown eyes in which he could have lost himself, a smile that melted his heart. "Icarus?" he asked, feeling less and less foolish with each passing second.

The bird turned toward him and chirped once more.

With tears welling in his eyes, Pythagoras reached for it, holding his palm open without a word. The bird hopped in his hand happily.

"My love, we meet again," Pythagoras said as tears rolled down his cheeks. Faced now with what the Gods had expected, Pythagoras found himself short of words. He brought the bird closer to his lips and kissed the top of its head. "There's so much I need to say..."

The bird shook itself a couple of times and settled in Pythagoras' hand.

"You were forgiven the moment I passed your door," Pythagoras started. "I wish you hadn't been stupid enough to risk your life..."

The bird chose this instant to peck at his hand. It didn't hurt, but the meaning was clear.

"Thank you for saving our lives. But I miss you."

They stayed like that for long minutes, in silence, until the bird stretched its wings – it was time to part again. Pythagoras put it on the wall. "Wait for me, my love. We'll meet again, in another life. I swear."

The bird opened its wings and flew away, leaving behind some hope for happiness.

.

That evening, when he came back home, Pythagoras announced to his brother that he was leaving.

"Where are you going?" Arcas asked.

As he was packing his clothes, Pythagoras shrugged. "I don't know yet. I've visited most of this end of the Mediterranean sea, maybe I should go further to the West. To Magna Graecia for instance." He turned around and took his brother's hands. "I think I've found what I came here for, and it's time for me to leave. I must share my knowledge now."

.

Arcas escorted him to the harbor the next day. They found a boat sailing to Magna Graecia. "Where are you going exactly?" Pythagoras asked.

"Croton," one of the sailors replied as he raised the mainsail.

Pythagoras hugged his brother. "That's where you'll find me if you need."

"Until we meet again," Arcas said.

When the boat left the harbor, Arcas was already back at his house. Pythagoras' heart didn't break. He knew now that no goodbye was forever.


	8. Sorrows of your life Part7

Pythagoras covered his eyes when he stepped out of the cave for his morning stroll between the giant pines of the plateau of La Sila. The blazing sun reflected on the sea beyond Croton. So far away, the large city looked like an anthill. Sometimes, when the wind blew from the East, one could hear the clamour from the market.

Up there, the silence invited to meditate, and that was Pythagoras' plan when he went down the slopes in these early hours. The occasional cry from a wild animal – a bird or a wolf, or even a bear – accompanied him in his thoughts: they were all precious souls in a cycle of life and death.

That much he explained to his students when he came back from his walk. "And so, through metempsychosis, souls are reborn constantly."

"Is that why we're forbidden to eat meat?" asked a young woman who had joined him a few days before.

Excitement made his heart pound in his chest. Even at his age – his youth had slipped away like sand between fingers – Pythagoras still felt elation when he met a brilliant mind. He smiled. "It is so."

A dozen pupils lived with him in this cave – his school. Medicine, music, philosophy, mathematics, were the subjects those young people came to study, and Pythagoras was happy to teach. Diagrams and formulas covered the walls, allowing anyone to change a number or a line, depending on their discoveries. He remembered Thales' lessons fondly and followed his path; he discussed new concepts with them, waiting for some truth to emerge out of their conversations. He had already refined his theory about strings' length and tone in music.

After a fruitful session where they discussed Thales' theorem, Pythagoras offered to stay on the subject of triangles and drew one with a right angle on the wall behind him. "We already know that there's a relation between the length of the hypotenuse and the length of the other two sides. I've been looking for a proof of this for years, and I was hoping you could help me."

One student suggested to cut several triangles of the same size in leaves and to manipulate them, which they did. As they noticed things, Pythagoras noted everything on the wall.

They spent two days on the triangles, playing with their shape, assembling them. By the end of the second day, Pythagoras felt they made little progress and maybe he had to give up: it wasn't the right time yet. He passed between the students, looking at what they had done, when he noticed that two groups of four people had come up with different figures, with squares appearing in the midst – one big one in the first, two smaller in the second. He frowned and scratched his mostly grey hair; intuition told him he was on the right path. "Have you tried measuring the surface of those squares?" he asked both groups.

They did, and they wrote the figures on the wall. They all looked at the numbers with intense focus, but it was Pythagoras who understood them. Between the surfaces of the two little squares, he drew a plus sign, and an equal sign between those and the surface of the bigger square. It added up. Of course, the squares in the formula meant squares' surfaces. The figures appeared to glow on the wall. _I've made it, Jason. I've found my theorem._

Pythagoras' pupils were quite surprised to see their teacher cry when he turned around.

.

Pythagoras knelt on the riverbank – knees and back both creaking – and plunged his hands in the stream. He gulped down fresh water from the cup of his palms. When the water's surface stilled, his reflection appeared.

He gasped at the sight of fine white hair in lazy curls and deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Where had all those years gone? His hand moved by itself and touched the image, troubling it instantly. For a second, he saw himself in his twenties, bright blue eyes and mop of blond hair and smooth skin, and then it was gone.

Dumbstruck, he fell on his back, on wet grass and mud. His teeth rattled and the subsequent bolt of pain in his jaw reminded him of his general bad shape. "I'm old," he told the trees around him; they didn't care. Deep in his bones, he knew time was running out, but teaching young men and women had made him forget his age.

As fast as he could, he walked back to the cave, where he gathered his students together. There were more now – around forty. They sat around the fire, in the middle of the main hall, and whispered to each others, waiting for Pythagoras to talk.

He cleared his throat. "It is time for me to do a spiritual retreat." His statement was received with confusion and denial. He waited for his pupils to calm down before he resumed. "I leave the school to Philolaus, my most trusted student and one of the first who joined me."

From his place on the ground, Philolaus' eyes widened. He looked around, blushing under the other students' stares.

"Now go on with your daily routine." Pythagoras clapped his hands and they all went back to their chores and studies while he retreated to his room.

His meager possessions lay packed on his bed, with a special item on top of the pile. He was reaching for it just as Philolaus knocked on the wall. "Come in."

Wringing his hands, the – not so young anymore – man stepped inside. "I'm most honored, Pythagoras –"

"But you're scared." Pythagoras grabbed both Philolaus' shoulders. "Follow the principles I've been teaching you for years, and you're going to be fine. I know it."

Philolaus' eyes gleamed with tears. "I'll make sure your teachings are known everywhere."

The promise swelled Pythagoras' heart. He smiled and hugged Philolaus. "Go now. You have a school to lead."

Alone once again, Pythagoras wiped his eyes. He sighed deeply and went back to the special item. With some glue, he attached it to his chin. A fake beard. Hercules would be proud of him.

Unrecognizable, he sneaked out of the cave and walked to Croton, where he boarded a boat to Neapolis.


	9. Sorrows of your life Part8

The travel was more eventful than the last time he was on a ship. His old bowels didn't take well the shaking of the boat; he spent most of the journey either sleeping in his room or vomiting on the deck. He lost weight, and the captain of the ship couldn't hide his worries any longer.

"We'll reach Athens in two days. You should disembark there."

Pythagoras wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. "No."

The captain held out a goatskin and helped Pythagoras drink of it. "I fear for your life, sir. You could rest for a while in Athens, and board another ship later."

"Don't worry," he said with a less than assuring smile. He gulped down a mouthful of water but choke on it and coughed for several second. The captain rubbed his back until he felt better. Pythagoras gave him back the goatskin. "I have to go to Neapolis. If I wait too long, I may never be able to."

.

A week later, Pythagoras was on the deck, throwing up overboard, when the cry of a sailor made his heart pound. "Neapolis right ahead!"

With his old and tired blue eyes, he checked the horizon and, there it was: a beautiful city, its white walls in stark contrast with the dark forest behind. The palace, gold and marble, was a bright spot, visible even from so far away. The sight warmed Pythagoras' heart, which skipped a beat.

The warmth spread in his chest and became painful. Breathing was difficult, his lungs two balls of fire inside his ribcage. In agony, he fell on his knees as his body failed him. Clutching the rail between weak fingers, he looked at Neapolis and his heart finally stopped. As death drew dark curtains on the world, he smiled. "I'm coming, Icarus," he said with his last breath.

He was buried in Neapolis, and King Jason, helped by his sons – the old King could barely stand on his own anymore – attended the ceremony.

Pythagoras' body still lay under the ground. What became of his soul, nobody knows.


	10. Blue Yonder Part1

Icarus took good care of him after his release, but it would be days before the bruises disappeared and the wounds mended. The walk toward the forest pricked him with needles of pain. Just getting out of Atlantis was a challenge: the commotion Icarus had caused distracted the milicia enough for Daedalus to go through the doors unnoticed, but walking there from the top of Poseidon's temple rendered his legs sore. By the time he reached the outskirts of the woods, the sun was high in the sky and he wanted nothing more than sit and sleep, but he was still too exposed to stop there. He limped toward the hunting loge.

Daedalus barged inside and shut the door after another look behind. He wasn't followed. He slouched against the wall and slipped to the ground, exhausted and in agony. Every bone, every muscle in his body strained against his bruised and wounded skin. He let out a whine. Pasiphae's soldiers hadn't been gentle with him; Daedalus's body still suffered from their torture.

For an instant, blurred images of various weapons covered in blood – his blood – and the sadistic grins of faceless soldiers filled his head. He shuddered. _No!_ He rubbed his eyes until blue and pink and white sparkles appeared on the dark screen of his eyelids, erasing for now the memories of the atrocities he'd experienced, and lay there for a while.

Resting on the hard cold ground proved to be a bad idea. Daedalus tried to stand up and grunted from the effort. His legs wobbled under his weight, threatening to give up any second. He stumbled toward the table where he sat more comfortably – although the ancient bench stuck splinters in his tender bum. He winced.

 _What I wouldn't do for a good mattress,_ he thought as he looked around. _Thank the Gods!_ At the back of the loge, the large bed was teasing him with its soft-looking blankets and fluffy pillows. There was no time for that, though. Obviously, Icarus wasn't there, neither were Jason nor Pythagoras. There were footprints in the dust that covered the floor, but they could have been there since forever.

He stretched his legs, groaning, and jumped at the clank he heard under the table. He bent with great care and looked at his feet; a pot lay there, with wings traced on its side. _Icarus!_

In the pot, Daedalus found a note unmistakeably written by his son, but in a manner that no one else but him could decipher. For the old man, the code was clear: Jason and his little group were heading for Keramoti, to find a boat to Colchis. That much the hieroglyphic signs and runes told him. If he sometimes questioned the parentage of Icarus – though he had held the baby in his arms right after his birth – now wasn't one of those times. Icarus was clever, he just chose not to use his brains. That was what caused this mess in the first place.

Daedalus' guts churned at the memory. The things he had said to his son... The remembrance of his harsh words brought tears to his eyes. His son never had bad intentions, only stupid reactions and clumsy actions. He would tell him when he saw him. He decided to get some rest if he wanted to reunite with his son before sunset.

He fell asleep sitting at the table.

A couple of hours later, he opened an eye, wondering where he was. The table was hard against his left cheek, and the stiffenning in his neck made him groan. As he rubbed it, memories came back. The hunting loge. Keramoti. He glanced at the sky and saw that the sun had started its slow descent. _So late already!_ He banged his hand on the table, and the shock reverberated in his sore shoulder. He howled in pain and frustration. If he didn't leave soon, he'd never reach the harbor before night.

He stretched his limbs and realised that the journey wouldn't be as difficult as he had thought at first: his legs, at least, felt better. With another mournful glance at the bed, he exited the building.

The night was falling when the sea finally appeared beyond the dunes. On Daedalus' right, lights floated above the water, indicating Keramoti. But another light – alone, small, the light of a single fire – shone on his left, on the beach. A hunch told him that was where he'd find his son and his friends, and headed there. His body was close to exhaustion.

He walked into the camp when all but Hercules were about to go to sleep. Icarus ran to him and crushed his bones in a bear hug.

"Father, I'm so glad you found us!"

Daedalus swallowed a grunt of pain and returned the embrace. "Of course I would. Your message was clear." He pushed his son away and examined him with a critical eye. "I'm happy to see you safe and sound, after your flight."

Pythagoras joined them and put a hand on Icarus' shoulder. The slight frown on his face intrigued Daedalus, but the mystery didn't last long. "It almost wasn't so."

"What do you mean?" Daedalus asked, his heart pounding.

Icarus looked at his feet sheepishly. "I was struck by an arrow and fell to the ground. But Pythagoras found me."

"Are you hurt? Where?" Daedalus knew he was barely breathing – his lungs hurt much from the lack of air – but his throat refused to open up. With impatient and sometimes violent movements, he checked his son for injuries.

When Daedalus pressed his back, Icarus gasped. "Ouch, father! Be careful! I fell from the sky after all!"

Daedalus' next gestures were gentler, though no less thorough.

"Don't worry. Pythagoras already checked me. I have bruises and a sprained wrist, that's all," he said, showing him the bandage under his leather wristband.

"Pythagoras even revived him in the most curious way," Hercules added from his seat in front of the fire before gobbling an olive.

The blush on both Pythagoras' and Icarus' cheeks told Daedalus everything he needed to know. He smiled at his son and cupped his cheek tenderly. "Everything has been for the best then."

He recalled the desperation in Icarus' voice at the idea that Pythagoras would never forgive him, how his tears had drenched Daedalus' tunic. After Icarus' eyes dried out, he put him to bed like he did when Icarus was but a kid, whispering the song he loved to listen to when he was afraid of the dark. He watched him sleep for a while.

His foolish son. All he wanted for him was to find the happiness Daedalus had found with Icarus' mother, until her untimely death. If such happiness was with Pythagoras, all the better! He knew the young man and admired his cleverness – though he would never tell him. Pythagoras would ground his dreamy son.

Daedalus' thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. "You should come by the fire. The night's going to be chilly," Jason said, always the good samaritain.

"I still don't like you," Daedalus told him, waving a displeased finger before his nose. "But that's a good idea you have here."

Icarus helped him to the fire and wrapped his shoulders in a blanket. "Here, father." The son snuggled against his father like a child, seeking warmth and reassurance and comfort, and Daedalus was happy to give them. They fell asleep sitting side by side.


	11. Blue Yonder Part2

The sun found them all strolling along the quay, looking for a boat that would take them to Colchis, but with little chance. Terrified sailors answered them in trembling voices that no one would sail to Colchis, the land of witches and monsters. By midday, desperate, they entered a tavern to eat a bit before trying again. They ordered food and drink.

"What will we do if we fail to find a ship?" Hercules asked as he served himself a cup of wine.

Jason shrugged as he munched on a chunk of bread. "We'll try again tomorrow, and the day after. We need to get there, Atlantis's fate depends on it." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He would never accept that his quest would stop before it even started. Too many people depended on its success.

A strange fellow cleared his throat at a nearby table before he addressed them. "Excuse me?"

Jason turned toward him. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help but hear that you were looking for a ship, and something about Atlantis."

Pythagoras choked on water and Icarus patted his back while looking around nervously. Hercules had lifted his considerable bum from his chair, ready to flee from the tavern. A silent question in her eyes, Ariadne was squeezing Jason's hand.

Jason knew very well that anyone who could report to Pasiphae was a threat to their important mission, but if the man had information that would help them, he was willing to take the chance. "We're looking to reach Colchis. Would you know of anyone who could take us there?"

The man – about forty, grey temples, strong arms burned by the sun – grinned. "I know just the guy. Name is Argus. He has a boat and he's looking for adventures."

That tiny speckle of hope was all Jason needed. "Could you introduce us?"

"It is I. At your service, my King." The strange man bowed from his seat.

The mention of the title he had claimed for barely a day made Jason panic. "I am no king!"

"Oh yes, you are. You are Jason, the rightful heir to the throne of Atlantis. And you must be Queen Ariadne," Argus added before he took Ariadne's hand and kissed it.

Jason pushed his chair from the table. "We must go. Now."

"No, no! Don't worry, I won't rat you out," Argus assured, waving his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I want Pasiphae out of Atlantis as much as you. I'm from the city, and I was forced to flee. A little misunderstanding about illegal merchandises, but whatever."

Jason wasn't sure he wanted to trust Argus, but they had little to say in the matter: the man may be their only chance to complete the quest assigned to them. "So you have a boat?"

"The best in town. A beautiful ship, fast as the wind, and sturdy as a rock. Not the other way around," Argus said with a dry laugh.

"What will it cost us?"

A frown appeared on Argus' brow and he brought a hand to his chest. "Nothing!" His mischievous smile came back. "Although a little mention that Argus helped you when you're on the throne and... you know... clemency for my petty crimes... That would be a nice thank you."

"You don't even know where we're heading. You may change your mind when we tell you."

"Try me."

Jason felt reluctant to give the last piece of information that man needed to turn them to Pasiphae if that was his plan, but he had little choice. "We're going to Colchis."

Argus clapped his hands, a radious smile that made him at least ten years younger lighting his face. "Perfect! As I said, I'm seeking adventures."

Jason looked around at his friends, silently asking for their agreement. They all nodded in turn. Jason held out his hand to Argus, who shook it. "It's a deal."

"Great! Now, if you don't mind, I have a tab here that the owner would like me to pay today..."

Jason rolled his eyes. Argus seemed like a nice addendum to their small group of outlaws.

After a lively conversation with the tavern's owner – Jason almost fainted when he heard how much Argus owed him – Argus led them across the town.

"Where are you going?" Jason asked. "The harbor is the other way."

Without looking at him, Argus shook his head. "I couldn't afford to have my ship at the quay. You wouldn't believe how much it costs... Well, the Argo is moored in deep water, and I have a row boat on the beach to bring us to her."

That Argus' boat was named after him only seemed fitting to his eccentric personality. Jason just hoped that they could trust the guy to sail.

They found the rowing boat where Argus had said it would be, and with Hercules at the oars, they were on board when the sun was still high and bright. Argus showed them their quarters – they only had five tiny rooms, but they could share. Jason and Ariadne took one, while Icarus would sleep with his father and Pythagoras with Hercules. Cassandra would have her own cabin, as would Argus – the perks of being the captain.

Still wary around Argus, who looked very much like a con-man, Jason chose to keep an eye on him. Without being seen, he followed him to the hold and watched him hide something between crates. When Argus climbed up, Jason pulled him aside. "What was that?"

Surprise at being caught soon gave way to an impish grin that deepened Argus' crow's feet. "I don't know what you're talking about." Like an afterthought, he added, with a slight bow, "my King."

Argus' insolence made Jason burn with rage. Too much was at stake to risk ruining everything because of this man. He felt fire creep up his cheeks as he grabbed Argus' arm. "I saw you. Don't think you can –"

"Don't worry." Argus put his hand on Jason's and squeezed it hard enough for Jason to feel pain in his joints. "I assure you it is of no concern to you, and it won't compromise your quest." As Jason wasn't letting go fast enough, Argus looked at their joined hands insistently. "I'm going to take you to Colchis, but I need to be up there."

"I'll be watching you," Jason said as he released Argus' arm. He followed him on the deck.

Once at the helm, Argus became someone else. Focused, his serious expression in stark contrast with the smile he had adorned since they met, he stared at the horizon, as if he was seeing things at the point where sky and sea met – when all Jason saw was two blue infinities blending into one.

Jason didn't know yet if it was a good idea to trust the strange fellow, but when the wind blew the sail and the Argo started to slide on the waves, he decided that they had no choice anyway. As he was standing at he bow, seaspray prickling his face, he felt hope: they would find the Golden Fleece, they would defeat Pasiphae, and they would save Atlantis. With Argus' help. Probably.


	12. Blue Yonder Part3

The sun had set hours ago, but Pythagoras was lying on the deck, at the stern, watching the stars above him. The sky was so clear, and so vast; even using quadrants wouldn't be enough to count the stars now.

The last time he had watched the night sky had been with Icarus, and although they were actually fleeing the patrols, they had spent the most intimate moment together. He still remembered Icarus' heartfelt words whispered in a tender voice while he stared right into his eyes. Pythagoras' heart had skipped a beat and, for a moment, it had felt like the world had disappeared – nothing left except the two of them, in a bubble of comfort and peace. A bubble in which Pythagoras had felt confident enough to want to kiss Icarus. If Icarus hadn't decided it was time for them to find Jason and Hercules, he probably would have.

But that bubble, Icarus had blown it up by betraying him. The memory still stung, a thorn in his heart that could never be removed. The wound would heal though; it would leave a scar, but the pain was going to stop someday. In the meantime, he would endure it, if it was the price to pay to keep Icarus by his side.

Speaking of the devil...

"What are you doing?" Icarus asked, his voice barely above a whisper to avoid waking up their friends – only Argus was left on the deck, holding the helm, paying them no mind.

They hadn't spoken since they shared a kiss – since Pythagoras kissed Icarus, truly. Although Icarus had seemed to enjoy it thoroughly. Thinking about their lips brushing against each other made Pythagoras blush and stutter his answer. "I was looking at the stars."

The word must have awaken the same memory of their moment on the roof in Icarus' head and despite the darkness, Pythagoras noticed his flushed cheeks and realized that his own blush might be as much visible. Pythagoras cleared his throat before adding: "You can join me, if you want." Now was as good a time as any to open their hearts and mend their relationship.

Without a word, Icarus sat beside Pythagoras, but looked at his hands instead of the sky. "I'm sorry, Pythagoras. I betrayed you, and I'll hate myself forever for it."

Pythagoras rolled over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. His heart beating fast in his chest, he put his hand on Icarus' forearm. "Don't, please. I don't hate you."

Icarus swallowed audibly. The glistening shine in his dark eyes suggested tears, and Pythagoras was unsure if he could stand them.

"I had forgiven you as soon as I was out of your house. I just couldn't turn back and tell you." Pythagoras tilted his head downward, ashamed. "Pride is a despicable sentiment. It often makes you hurt the people you love the most."

Muffled sobs made him look up. Icarus was now crying openly, but he hadn't moved from his place, hunched over his crossed legs.

"What is it?" Pythagoras asked as he sat up in front of Icarus.

Icarus looked at him from behind a curtain of brown curls. "I love you so much, Pythagoras. I've always loved you." He sniffed noisily and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I would have died of sorrow if my actions had cost your life."

The truth of those words, the pain caused by only thinking about it, burned in Icarus' eyes. Deeply touched, Pythagoras cupped Icarus' face, brushing away his tears with his thumbs. "I'm glad we're both alive, then," he whispered. He leaned closer and closer, until he could feel Icarus' breath on his lips, and then he closed the remaining gap and kissed Icarus for the second time.

Though this time, Icarus' hands weren't strapped to fake wings. They flew to Pythagoras' head, burying themselves in his short hair. Those long fingers massaging his scalp felt like heaven. He opened his mouth to moan, and Icarus' tongue sneaked between his lips.

Foreign at first, the feeling of that wet muscle exploring his mouth woke up something in him that he didn't know existed. If it was technically sexual arousal, he just wanted to call it desire. Desire to hold, to be held, to be skin against skin. To erase the physical barriers that made them two different human beings and to become one. One soul, one heart, one body.

Too soon. He gently pushed Icarus away and his gaze shifted to the left shyly after one last look into Icarus' eyes. The fire that burned in them had nothing to do with truth now; it was passion, and Pythagoras almost gave himself up to it. Now they had many nights – and days – to consume their love in a carnal way and it could wait. He entwined his fingers with Icarus'; that was all the mingling of bodies he dared to experience for now. Each time his heart hammered against his ribcage, the thorn of Icarus' betrayal stung, and that wasn't what he wanted to feel when they'd finally join in love.

Icarus cleared his throat and breathed in and out a couple of times before he could calm himself. He then smiled, the most beautiful smile Pythagoras had ever seen, pure joy stretching his lips almost to his ears and eyes shining with contentment. "I'm happy."

"Me too," Pythagoras replied. "Now go to sleep. I need to speak with Argus. I noticed he was using stars to sail at night, and I'd like to know how he does it."

A short laugh escaped Icarus' throat. "You're incorrigible." He nodded knowingly and, after a quick peck on Pythagoras' lips, he retreated to his room.

Pythagoras brought his hand to his mouth and brushed his swelled lips, the sensible flesh tingling. If that was what happiness felt like, he didn't want it to stop. Ever. He cast his eyes upward, to the stars, and prayed whatever Gods were still awake. _Please, don't take him away from me._

A shooting star flew across the sky, and it reminded him of his plan for the night. He slapped his cheeks and shook his head, breathed in and out, and stood up, more composed.

At the helm, Argus ignored him. Pythagoras cleared his throat loudly, several times, until the man deigned looking at him. "Would you mind telling me how it works?"

"What are you talking about?" Argus asked as he turned around to watch the sky once more.

That was going to be harder than he had thought. "How do you sail by the stars?"

When Argus looked at him this time, his smile had come back – but this one was genuine and heartfelt. Pythagoras knew the feeling: it was overwhelmingly satisfying to meet with someone interested in the same things as you. Especially when your passions were seldom shared.

Pythagoras spent the rest of the night with Argus as the man explained how the stars guided him, until there weren't any more stars in the sky.


	13. Blue Yonder Part4

On their fourth day at sea, sailing along the southern shore of the Propontis, Argus decided for a stop to find provisions, as theirs were running low.

"I know just the place," he told Jason. "Arctonnesus is ahead, we should be there soon. Cyzicus is a good King, quite lenient, and I should be able to... bargain some food and wine. Without being arrested, I mean."

Ariadne intervened. "We won't need to bargain. King Cyzicus was a friend of my father; he will receive us and help us."

She remained uncomfortable around Argus ; she despised his way of living. Her royal upbringing had had her seldom acquainted with the likes of him. Until quite recently, she didn't even mingle with common people. Meeting with Jason – and his friends, Hercules and Pythagoras – had changed her way of seeing the people around her. The last straw on her previous beliefs had been her short time as a Queen; when one had the lives of thousands of men, women and children between one's hands, it didn't matter where they came from, nor what they did. More than they had been her servants, she had been theirs.

She couldn't place Argus on the scale though. Was he an ally, or should they mistrust him? "Let's sail to the city," she ordered, hoping that her voice didn't sound as hesitant as she feared.

Argus bowed – and weirdly enough, Ariadne didn't think it looked sarcastic. "As you wish, my Queen."

They moored at quay this time, and headed to the palace. Ariadne had done her best to look presentable, but her ragged dress betrayed her situation, no matter how shiny her jewellery was or how tidy her hair appeared. They all looked no better than thieves and commoners, dirty and tired as they were. They'd need luck to approach the King.

And luck they had.

"Tell the King that Ariadne of Atlantis asks for an audience," she told the guards at the palace's gate. In Atlantis, their appearance alone would have won them an extended stay in jail, for their boldness – especially under Pasiphae's reign. Ariadne's stepmother had always despised the poor and the sick. She thought she was worth so much more than them, sometimes she didn't even deign look at them, for fear they would contaminate her in some way. The memory brought a bitter smile on Ariadne's lips, and she cast down her head to hide it.

One of the soldiers rushed inside to pass on her query. Not thirty minutes later, King Cyzicus himself came to welcome them. "Sweet Ariadne! It had been so long!" He kissed both her cheeks and held her hands in friendliness.

Ariadne offered a hint of a curtsey. "King Cyzicus, I'm glad to see you in such good health."

Cyzicus looked her up and down. She felt small under his gaze and straightened her back to hide her embarrassment.

"I can't say the same. I've heard of Minos' demise and Pasiphae's ascension to the throne. Your journey must have been exhausting. Please come inside and rest," he added with a large welcoming gesture towards his palace's entrance.

"I thank you with all my heart."/p

It wasn't just a phrase; there were unshed tears in her eyes. Such hospitality after many months of fear, despair and loneliness felt like a balm on a festering wound: it eased the pain and, in time, it would heal the wound too.

"I wasn't introduced to your retinue," King Cyzicus noted.

Ariadne's cheeks burned. "I'm sorry, I'm forgetting my duties."

"Don't worry, my sweet child," Cyzicus reassured her with a palm on her shoulder.

Ariadne nodded a thank you and composed herself. "Here is Jason, son of Aeson and rightful heir to the throne of Atlantis," she started. "And my husband," she added like an afterthought.

If the fact that she almost forgot that detail surprised King Cyzicus, he showed nothing. From the corner of her eyes, though, she saw pain in Jason's smile, brought by her silent dismissal. She felt slightly guilty for her mistake, but at the same time, she resented him. He had no right to feel hurt when he was the one who had wronged her. He had failed her for so long – even their marriage was fragile at best. It would be a long time before she forgave him.

Cyzicus turned to him. "King Jason, you are welcome in my humble home."

"Thank you, your Grace," Jason replied with a respectful bow.

"Pythagoras, Hercules, Daedalus and Icarus," she continued, pointing at them one by one. "They helped me escape Atlantis and are my most loyal servants."

They knelt in front of King Cyzicus, who urged them to stand up with a kind gesture. "You'll be rewarded as fit for saving your Queen."

"Argus offered us rooms on his ship to take us to..." Ariadne hesitated an instant. "... our final destination." She trusted Cyzicus, but walls had ears.

Cyzicus frowned at the sailor's name. "Do I know you?"

"I doubt it, your Grace. I never go that far inside the Propontis." To Ariadne, it was obvious Argus was lying. Without even sweating.

Cyzicus wasn't buying it. He stared at Argus. "I seem to recall a crook named Argus though, who tried to smuggle golden statues from our temple."

Argus scrunched his nose. "What a despicable action! I could never do that." To emphasize his statement, he shook his head vigourously. Ariadne rolled her eyes at his deceitful display of disgust.

Cyzicus watched Argus a little longer, before turning towards Cassandra. "And this young lady?"

"She's Cassandra, Atlantis's Oracle. Of the temple of Poseidon," Ariadne replied.

The King knelt at the young woman's feet. "It's an honor to meet you. May the Gods be with you at all time."

"And with you," Cassandra whispered. She looked uncomfortable at seeing Cyzicus on his knees, and she made him stand up by taking his hands. She was shy and too young for her position, and Ariadne could relate to her.

"You're all welcome in my home. My servants will take you to your rooms, where you can freshen up and change into more comfortable clothes. We'll meet in the reception hall and we'll feast together." King Cyzicus left them and an army of servants ushered them in the palace.

After Argus was shown his room, Jason took a servant aside. "I'd like you to check on this man and report to me if he does anything reprehensible."

Ariadne felt relief at Jason sharing her opinion on the sailor. It would be most problematic if Argus was to be arrested for stealing something in the royal palace.

Jason and Ariadne, as husband and wife, were given one room to share. A beautiful dress and a clean tunic were waiting for them on the bed. "Let me help you," Jason said as soon as they were alone.

Still wary around him, Ariadne shook her head. "You don't need to."

"But I want to."

She heard such eagerness in his voice that she couldn't refuse him again. She didn't say anything else and turned around to hide the blush she felt creeping up her face. She held her hair up.

With fingers that burned into her skin, he slid the straps of her dress and let it pool at her feet. Naked, she felt vulnerable. She almost covered herself in shame, until she decided that would be a bad idea: it would imply that the situation was of a sexual nature. It was not. She wanted – needed – to show Jason that truce was still out of question.

He plunged a cloth in the basin and rubbed her back gently, then her arms.

The fresh water not only cleaned her skin, but her mind too. With her eyes closed, she could imagine she was still in Atlantis, Korrina washing away the day's sweat, while her father worked at his desk, a couple of rooms further down the corridor.

Jason cleared his throat and broke her dream. The fleeting feeling of peace vanished and despair took its place. At the memory of the people she had loved and had lost, she shed a tear that she quickly wiped with her thumb. Jason would try to comfort her if he saw, and she would let him. Because she loved him, and she needed him more than ever.

It would not do.

He was about to wash her chest when she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "I'll do it."

He turned around as she finished washing herself hastily.

"You should freshen up too," she said as she walked past him, fully dressed and braiding her hair.

She ignored him as he changed into the clean clothes and watched the sun setting on the sea. Another day ending. How many more before she felt at peace again?

.

King Cyzicus was a wonderful host and they all enjoyed a nice evening, forgetting the hell they'd been through the past few weeks.

On couches side by side, Icarus and Pythagoras were talking in low voices, though Icarus would often burst out laughing at something Pythagoras said, and Pythagoras would smile tenderly at his friend. Jason was happy for them. He wished his relationship was as simple as theirs. Ariadne sat on a couch next to the King, and she didn't even look at Jason.

At Jason's right, Hercules was drinking more than he ate. His rubicund face barely hid his sadness. Every time he looked at his friend, Jason remembered that he had murdered Hercules' lover, and that Medusa's death ended up being a waste. Jason missed the nice girl, her wits and her smiles – they always reached her eyes, and she became as radiant as the sun – and he couldn't even imagine the pain Hercules felt at losing her. Or maybe he could: he'd almost lost Ariadne and thought he was going crazy. That she'd been hurt by Medea added another layer of pain to the memory.

Daedalus lay asleep on his couch. The old man had slept through their journey, and needed more rest to heal properly. Jason asked a servant to wake him up though, and to take him to his room – his bed would be more comfortable than the dining couch. Daedalus protested at first, but he was too weak to deny his need for a night in a good bed. He nodded at his son as he left the hall.

On Jason's left, Cassandra sat silently, barely eating anything. Jason moved closer to her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She didn't answer, and that was all Jason needed to know: Cassandra always told the truth. She'd rather stay silent than tell a lie.

"Are you getting words from the Gods about our quest?" he insisted.

"Not yet," she answered, shaking her head vehemently.

He smiled at her, a smile he hoped reassuring. "That must mean good news." But when she stared at him without another word, he wasn't so sure anymore.

.

The moon shone high in the sky when they finally parted and went to their rooms. Jason lay on the bed, hands crossed under his head, and watched the ceiling while Ariadne slipped into a nightdress. He felt the thin mattress sink under her weight, but he didn't dare look at her. She rolled over onto her side, back to him. "King Cyzicus will give us food supplies. He'll see us off himself tomorrow at noon."

"Thank you, Ariadne."

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for Atlantis."

Yep, no reconciliation yet.


	14. Blue Yonder Part5

When Icarus entered their shared room, his father was already fast asleep. He lay on his less bruised side, but couldn't help the winces of pain that distorted his face now and then, even as he slept. His slight moans and groans filled the otherwise quiet room, testimonies of the torture he had endured from Pasiphae's soldiers. Icarus bent over his father's bed and kissed Daedalus' sweaty forehead – like his father did when he was but a wee child suffering from a fever. The memory brought a tired smile on his face. To think he had almost lost this man.

But a deep feeling of dread and guilt followed the thought instantly. At what price had he been about to buy his father's survival? Pythagoras' face appeared in his mind, lightened by the smile he loved so much. It could have been Pythagoras lying on this bed, deeply in pain. Or even worse. And Icarus would have been responsible. He shivered.

He remembered his first meeting with the young mathematician.

Icarus had been visiting Daedalus during the summer, after his teacher had deemed he needed a break in his studies. Even at 20, he felt happiness at seeing his father, his only family, after many months of separation. When he resided in Atlantis, he barely left Daedalus' house, working with him on his latest project or simply observing the old man playing with his models. He never stayed long – a week at most – and it always broke his heart to part with Daedalus, even knowing they would see each other again a few months later.

He had to leave the next day and had felt gloomy all afternoon, when he heard rapping at the door. Without a look – or a word, for that matter – Daedalus ordered him to open the door, which Icarus did with an amused sigh. How he would miss this, the intense focus of his father when he worked, the flame of his genius burning amidst the dark of his eyes, the way he forgot the world around him – including his own son. Even after all these years, he could never resent his father. He understood divine inspiration.

The door opened on a young man barely older than Icarus, with a thin and angular face and bright blue eyes. Under the hot summer sun, his hair blazed like fire. For a fleeting instant, Icarus thought Apollo had come down from the sky to see him, as absurd as it sounded. His first word was nothing more than a whisper. The man had quite literally taken his breath away. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes?"

The man stared at him with a gaping mouth for a moment before his milky skin flushed bright red. Icarus found this demeanor adorable. If his heart skipped a beat, who could blame him?

"I'm – I want – Is –" the man stuttered. He looked down at the dusty street. "May I see Daedalus?"

"Who's asking for my father?"

The word seemed to hurt the man in a mysterious way. It cast a shadow in the blue of his eyes, deepening their color to that of the sky in a storm, heavy with grey clouds and electricity. It lasted less than a second, but it changed his lovely face in such a way that worry settled in Icarus' heart.

A shy smile soon replaced the dreary expression. The man held out his hand. "I'm sorry. My name is Pythagoras. Nice to meet you." He shook Icarus' offered hand. "You are?"

"I'm Icarus." Pythagoras' palm was warm in his hand, and the long and slender fingers showed no sign of hard work. It pleased him. "Come with me, my father is downstairs."

He had reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard Daedalus throw something at the wall – probably a failed experiment – and growl his disapproval. Icarus stopped dead and turned around, since his father wouldn't welcome anyone who bothered him right this moment.

Pythagoras lunged forward, carried by momentum, and bumped into Icarus.

Chest against chest, looking up to two pale blue gems, Icarus fell in love.

Sitting on the windowsill, staring at the sleeping city, Icarus smiled at the memory. So many years had passed – too many, his heart screamed. He had never hoped his love would ever be requited. Of course, he suspected Pythagoras' attraction for him, but thought he would never act on it. The mathematician was a man of the brain, not of the body. And yet, it was Pythagoras who initiated their first kiss – and their second, actually. Maybe Pythagoras had changed after he met Jason.

Icarus looked at the city at his feet, dark and ominous. They had embarked on a dangerous journey, but he would do anything to protect the man he loved.

When his father grunted once more, Icarus went to him. He had all the time in the world to think about Pythagoras. Right now, his father needed him.

.

The ship was filled with crates of fruits, wheels of cheese and barrels of wine. That should sustain them until they reached Colchis. Words of the end of the loading arrived at the palace, and they all headed to the harbor.

They weren't half way there when a commotion came from beyond the city's walls. A soldier ran to them, bowed quickly in front of the King, and announced that the Gegenees were attacking the town. "Dispatch all the soldiers. Protect the walls," King Cyzicus ordered. He then turned towards them. "You should leave now, in case they break our defense. I won't go with you to the quay; I must go back to the palace and oversee my army."

"What are the Gegenees?" Jason asked. The name rang a bell, but he couldn't put an image on it. It made him think of the stories his father loved to tell him before bed. Everything he knew about mythology came from those tales he remembered fondly. With a father as busy as Aeson was, those quiet bedtime moments often remained the only ones they shared.

"The Gegenees are six-armed giants who live in the mountains, North of here. Sometimes, they raid the city," Cyzicus replied.

Jason unsheathed his sword, his instinct always kicking in before he could even reflect on the best way to act. Though he never knew whether the outcome of his impulses would be good or bad, he could never suppress them. They were the reason for everything good that ever happened to him – and the worst too, but one had to stay positive. "We're gonna help you."

"Are you mad?" Hercules protested. "They've got six arms! That's four more than needed to kill us."

"I'd have said five, but I've always been a pessimist," Pythagoras added. Despite his words, he took out his sword and nodded to Jason. He was ready.

Jason was tired of Hercules' cowardice. He loved the man dearly, but he was such a bother sometimes. "If you don't want to fight with us, go back to the ship and protect it." He glanced around at the others. "Are you coming with me?"

Ariadne walked to a nearby soldier and asked for his bow and arrows. "I'm coming," she told Jason as she was adjusting the quiver on her back.

She made Jason proud, and looking at his beautiful and deadly wife, he felt so much love that he feared he could never express the extent of it in words.

Besides her, Daedalus looked broken. Jason gently touched the man's shoulder. "You can go with Hercules and avoid danger in the boat."

Despite the bad bruise still adorning his left cheek – turning yellow, but it must still hurt badly – and his obvious limp, the old man frowned at Jason. "I'm not dead yet. I'll fight with you."

"Father, are you sure?" Icarus stepped in front of his father, to keep him from joining them.

"Don't worry, my boy. I'll take care of myself, and I'll keep away from dangers." He tapped his temple. "I have the most perfect weapon right here."

Icarus' expression wavered between anger and sadness, but there was little he could do. Jason knew first-hand Daedalus' spirited mind and how difficult it was to make him change it.

"We're going on the city's wall, and from there, we'll see what we can do," Jason ordered, and they all followed him up the stairs and towards the commotion.

Close to the North gate, they came upon the battle. Monsters twice as tall as the soldiers were hitting them with boulders, ripping them apart with their six giant hands or crushing them under feet large enough to cover half a man. Hideous, hairy and deformed, just their sight had men running away from the battlefield. The only good news was that the soldiers outnumbered the Gegenees one to twenty at least.

Jason wasn't much of a thinker, but he knew he could rely on his strategic skills. "Ariadne, stay on the wall and shoot at them. Aim at their head, especially their eyes if you can."

She nodded at him and took an arrow out of her quiver. Her first shot was a miss, but the second hit the face of one of the giants, and as the monster tried to remove the arrow, fifteen soldiers came on it with spears and swords. In a couple of minute, they defeated the Gegene. But Ariadne didn't witness the small victory; she was already shooting arrows at the other giants.

.

Daedalus rubbed a bad cut on his arm that had started to itch. He felt far from okay, but he could never leave his new friends to an unknown fate without helping. Even Jason.

When asked if he would follow Jason's orders, he nodded.

"Come with me," Jason told them. He jumped from the wall and disappeared from their sight.

"Jason!" Pythagoras shouted as he bent over the wall. Below them, a cart was stationned that was filled with bags of grains. As he looked down, they saw Jason get off the cart and brush his clothes, unharmed, before he made a sign to follow him. "Whatever," Pythagoras shrugged before jumping.

Icarus refused to look down. "I can't do it again."

That was the first hint of wit his son had shown in a while, and yet it was the wrong time to be witty. "It's much lower than Poseidon's temple," Daedalus argued.

Icarus furrowed his brow and growled at him. "I don't have wings this time."

"Go!"

Rolling his eyes, Icarus breathed in deeply and jumped, screaming until he hit the bags of grains.

Daedalus turned to Cassandra. "Young girl, you're gonna help me. See the construction site there? Find a knife, or anything that cuts, and come with me."

He had an idea.

.

Down the wall, Jason, Pythagoras and Icarus ran towards the giants. Jason leaped on one of them and plunged his sword in its face to the hilt. Pythagoras bent down to avoid the arms of another, rolled between its legs and, still crouched on the ground, he slashed through both its Achilles tendons in one swift move. When the Gegene collapsed, howling, Icarus cut its throat with his sword.

There were still many giants, but with the help of Ariadne, the army had made a breakthrough and some monsters were already running away, defeated.

Jason was killing another Gegene when a loud rumble drew his attention back to the wall. Dozens of stones were rolling down a slope made of planks and onto the giants closest to the wall, crushing them under their weight. From the top of the wall, Daedalus gave a thumb up at Jason, a smiling Cassandra by his side.

They kept fighting until the last Gegene decided that his mountain was a better place to die and escaped the battlefield. Victorious, Jason and his friends went back to the palace to tell the news to King Cyzicus. The man welcomed them warmly, and offered the fighters, covered in giant's blood, to take a bath.

When they were back in the hall, clean and fresh, Cyzicus asked them if they wanted to stay one more night to rest after such a battle, but Jason shook his head. "We must go. We have things to do." He knelt respectfully at the King's feet. "But we thank you for your hospitality."

"And I thank you for fighting by my side against my enemies. You can ask me anything."

With a lopsided smile, Jason refused. Everything he'd ever done, it was never for a reward or honor. He just couldn't let the world go awry and do nothing.

"I wish you success in your quest," King Cyzicus told them as they were exiting the hall.

On the quay, they found Hercules sitting on a dead Gegene, drinking wine. "This one came to say hi, but I didn't like its face."

"You'll always surprise me, Hercules," Jason said while shaking his head.

Hercules shrugged and gulped down half of his cup.

"Is everybody okay?" Jason asked his friends. Then it hit him. "Where's Argus?" They all looked at each other, but there was no mistaken Argus wasn't among them. They hadn't seen the guy for a while. Jason wasn't even sure he was there when they decided to help Cyzicus against the giants.

"I'm here." Argus' muffled voice came from below the deck of the Argo.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Come out, we're leaving." Hopefully without Cyzicus' jewellery.

Half an hour later, they were gone.


	15. Blue Yonder Part6

They were still circling Arctonnesus, the peninsula a far away line of mountains and forests against the horizon, when the sky went dark in the North-East, with the wind blowing fast in their direction. Flashes of light streaked grey clouds, accompanied with rumbles of thunder. Argus grumbled at the sight. "The storm will be on us in a couple of hours. There's no harbor close enough, and if we moor in a bay, the Argo will be lost. And us with it, if we're still on the rowing boat when it strikes."

"What do you suggest?" Jason asked.

"We sail through the storm." The light had left his eyes and a deep frown made him look much older. On the helm, his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm.

Seeing the eccentric man so serious made Ariadne worry. "Isn't it dangerous?"

Argus shrugged. "Of course, but it's our only hope."

"Then that's what we're gonna do," Jason decided. "What do you need of us?"

Argus barely looked at them, focused on the clouds getting closer and closer. "Stay on deck, it's safer. You don't want a crate falling on your head if the boat capsizes. I'll keep the sail down at first, that's how we'll leave the storm faster behind us. But if it comes to it, and it will, I'll need you to hoist it. There are brails, one on port side, the other on starboard side. The sail folds around the yard when you pull on them."

Pythagoras looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "I have no idea what you just said."

"Ropes left and right, pull on them if I say so." Argus rolled his eyes and muttered. "He's supposed to be a genius and he doesn't even know his left from his right..."

Pythagoras frowned. "I heard that!" But Argus ignored him.

Ariadne smiled at the short exchange, but worry soon settled again on her heart. She almost resented Jason. He had trusted Argus too fast, and decided to follow his advice without even consulting them – consulting her. Though it sounded reasonable, there was still a little risk that they would die right here and now, in the storm, and Jason would be responsible.

She watched everyone take their place on the deck, ready to follow Argus' orders, and felt stupid. Her prejudice against Argus and her anger against Jason was blinding her. She admonished herself silently. She would never be a good Queen if she let her feelings cloud her judgement. She, too, took her place on the deck and waited.

They all waited, anticipation building and setting their nerves on fire, much like the lightning slashing the sky. Waves grew bigger and bigger, and the ship shook them violently. Following Argus' advice, they had all grabbed a solid piece of the Argo, and Icarus and Jason had even tied ropes around Cassandra's and Ariadne's midriff, for fear they wouldn't hold tight enough if the storm was really bad. As he knotted Ariadne's safeline once more around the mast, Jason glanced at her face and read the panic in her eyes. He hugged her. "Everything's gonna be alright."

She said nothing. What could she say? He was taking care of her, after all that had happened. After Medea. She suppressed a sob. Thinking of the witch still hurt. They had been married for less than a day when Jason had kissed another woman. Even more, the woman who had tried to kill her. When she had learned about that, from Jason's mouth, her world had crumbled. What was she supposed to believe now? Were Jason's feelings genuine? And now, he treated her like the most precious flower on Earth. She felt confused.

The danger darkening the horizon didn't help. They could very well die soon and she would never know whether Jason had ever really loved her. The tightening in her chest made her sigh.

.

Then the storm was on them and all hell broke loose. Clutching the rail on starboard side, Jason was pushed against it by the wind coming from his left, so hard he could barely breathe. On the other side of the deck, Hercules and Pythagoras struggled to keep on foot. Jason was starting to wonder if he had made the right choice when the ship tipped on its right, bringing the rough water so close to him that he could smell the salt.

In the middle of the tempest's roar, Jason discerned Argus' voice. "... sail... ow!"

"What?" he shouted, hoping that Argus would hear him.

"... pull... ails..."

"I don't understand!"

Argus yelled only one word. "Ropes!"

Jason remembered Argus' explanations. He stepped forward, seized the brail and started pulling on it. He noticed Hercules doing the same on his left, and the sail levelled up slowly, getting out of the wind.

That was when the ship dove into the water between two high waves. Jason almost lost balance, but managed to hold onto his brail. Hercules wasn't so lucky: he stumbled and let go of the rope. The right side of the sail unfolded and took the wind. A loud creaking sound came from the mast.

Pythagoras, proving once again he was more courageous than he thought, walked slowly towards the brail that was wriggling in the wind. He jumped and held on it, but he wasn't strong enough to fight against the storm. As hard as he pulled on the rope, the sail wouldn't move.

Under the strain of the half unfolded sail, the mast was cracking. Attached to it, a scared Ariadne was looking at Jason for help. If the sail wasn't hoisted soon, they would lose it – and with it, probably Ariadne, who would be crushed under the mast's weight.

Just when he thought it was going to break, Jason saw Icarus crawl on the deck towards Pythagoras. Grabbing hold of his friend, the young man got up and helped Pythagoras hoisting the sail. As soon as it was completely folded around the yard, they tied the brail to the rail and, finally, sat on the deck with relief.

Jason tied his brail too, before he walked to Ariadne despite the reeling that threatened to throw him overboard. She was clutching the mast between trembling arms, terrified. He wrapped himself around her and, against his chest, she started to calm down.

They were out of the storm soon after. Women were untied, and Pythagoras checked them all for injuries. "Besides some bruises, we escaped this storm unharmed," he declared after applying a balm on Hercules' elbow where a dark purple flower was blooming.

Argus inspected his boat with critical eyes, frowning at them when he discovered the crack in the mast – as if it was their fault that the Argo had been damaged. He went below deck and came back with half a dozen oars in his arms. "We need to go ashore to repair the mast." He let the oars fall on the deck. "Time to row."

Reluctantly, Jason, Hercules, Pythagoras and Icarus sat at the scubbles and plunged their oar in the water below. And rowed.

Once ashore, Argus instructed them to find a pine large enough to replace the mast's section the storm had damaged. "Just cut it down and bring me a 5 feet long log. I'll do the rest."

"I'll do it!" Hercules said as he stepped forward. "No need for you to leave the boat, I'll be back soon, because I'm the..."

"...strongest man in the world!" Jason and Pythagoras finished together. It made the rest of the group laugh.

Hercules couldn't be deterred. "Laugh as much as you want, but you'll thank me when we're on board before dusk."

Argus handed Hercules an axe, and the man left the group to enter the nearby woods.

.

Deep in the forest of Mysia, a river ran, in which water nymphs lived. Those delicious creatures charmed travelers to make them stay with them, and, sometimes, they even drove them to drown in the river. They had the ability to change their features, to become the most desirable person to their chosen victim, plucking their preferences directly in their head.

They saw the Argo come ashore, and discussed their future victim.

"I'd love to take the dark haired one, the one with the short curls," Lethe said, licking her lips.

Diopatre pinched her arm and Lethe screeched. "No, he's mine. And I know what I should look like." Her skin rippled and her face changed: she now had long curly dark hair, braided on one temple, and wide brown eyes.

Salmacis, usually the shy one, smiled a lustful smile. "Give me the olive-skin one. I'll comb his soft hair with my fingers." Focusing on him, she read his mind, and her smile turned into a grimace of disappointment. "Oh, I guess I won't be able to seduce this one: I don't want to change into a man."

They were still arguing when Hercules walked away from the group, alone.

"Awww no! Not this one!"

"I'd rather have the skinny blond guy."

"I'll take him," Alcinoe announced. She looked at the large man with eyes burning with desire while playing with a strand of her red hair. In the blink of an eye, she took the appearence of the person Hercules loved the most. "It'll be fun."


	16. Blue Yonder Part7

Armed with his axe, Hercules went deep into the forest, looking for the perfect tree. While he stared upward, he stumbled upon roots and almost fell on his face, as the axe escaped him and flew several feet away. He grumbled and headed where it had fallen but, as he passed a tree, he saw a figure hiding in the shadow. "Hello! Who's there?" He lost his breath when a woman stepped out of the darkness. "How is it possible?"

The woman walked to him, a shy smile on her lips, and stopped just in front of him. On tiptoe, she whispered in his ear. "Did you miss me?"

Hercules knew it was a trick. Was it Pasiphae's new form of torture? Did it mean that they would soon be caught by her soldiers? But Hercules' heart was pounding in his chest, singing a song of surrender. It didn't matter if it wasn't really Medusa: he needed a little more time with her, time to tell her what she meant to him, how much he loved her, and how her death affected him. So, aware that it was probably a trap, he took the woman in his arms and cried on her shoulder.

.

"He isn't back yet. I'm going to look for him," Jason said. Judging by the sun, Hercules had been gone for hours. Of course, it was plausible he had underestimated the difficulty of the task – or way overestimated his strength, as usual – but he'd have come back already with an excuse and a plea for help. Jason stepped toward the forest, ready to go searching for his friend.

Argus stopped him. "We need the tree as soon as possible. If I start working on it too late, it'll be dark before I'm finished and we won't be able to leave before tomorrow morning." He looked around and shivered. "I don't want to stay here longer than necessary. This land is haunted."

"What do you suggest? I go and cut the tree, as if I didn't care for Hercules missing?"

"Exactly."

Anger darkened Jason's heart. Seldom had he felt so much hate for someone – a hate that his need for the sailor barely balanced. "Argus, you're a real bastard."

Argus shrugged. "You don't live long in my... profession, if you aren't ready to make sacrifice, my King."

Jason sighed. Maybe Argus was right: repairing the mast was an urgency, and he'd have time to look for Hercules afterward. He took the axe Argus handed him. How many axes did he have, exactly?

He was back half an hour later with a huge log in his arms. The look on Icarus' face reminded him of the incredible capabilities he had inherited from the Gods. He was so used to it now that he barely noticed the amazing things he could do. He threw the trunk on the ground in front of Argus. "Now, we're searching for Hercules."

"Whatever," Argus replied, already turning around to retrieve his tools and to work on the wood.

Disappointed, Jason shook his head, then turned toward his friends. "I'm going. You all stay here in case he comes back; we don't need anyone else lost in those woods."

He had reached the edge of the forest when he saw Hercules coming to them, lost in thoughts, and with empty arms. "Hercules, where have you been?" he asked, furious and relieved at the same time.

"Around. I guess." He took Jason's arm as he passed by him. "I need to talk to you all."

.

"I'm staying here," he announced when they were all together, not far from Argus who was working on the mast.

Pythagoras stared at him with fear in his blue eyes. "What do you mean? Why?"

Hercules looked above his shoulder at the forest. "There's someone here I want to spend time with."

Certainly, those weren't the words Hercules meant to say! Pythagoras looked at the woods and there, between two large trees, lost in the shadow, a familiar figure stood. _It's impossible._ "You're being enchanted! It's a trick, and we're going to help you," Pythagoras replied, panic bringing tears to his eyes even as he was unsheathing his sword, ready to fight for his friend.

A tired smile stretched Hercules' lips. "Oh I'm sure it's a trick. She borrowed Medusa's features."

Hercules' resignation hurt Pythagoras deep inside. The way he gave up on everything for a mere dream, for a brief moment of comfort... How could that be? "I don't understand! If you know it isn't true, why do you want to stay?" Pythagoras had stepped closer to Hercules and was now clutching his arm, unable to let his friend go. Hercules' decision made no sense.

Hercules' eyes went from Pythagoras to Icarus and back to Pythagoras. "I know you don't understand. I need to grieve for my loss, and this creature will help me."

"Did she tell you that? Because I'm quite certain it's a lie!" Anger was so much easier than pain, but Pythagoras was no fool: he knew already he'd feel a lot of pain if he couldn't convince his friend to stay with them.

"She said nothing, at least not on that subject." Hercules shrugged. "That's just what I need."

Jason chose that moment to intervene. "We can't let you here alone, Hercules. We'll stay as long as you need us to."

Jason's words brought some hope in Pythagoras' heart. His idea wasn't half bad. If Hercules was adamant to stay, they'd stay with him. Their little trio, who had gone through so many perils and dangers, didn't have to split over such a trivial matter.

But Hercules' next words shattered the illusion. "No, no! You have your own mission to complete, Jason," Hercules replied. _The quest. The Golden Fleece. Atlantis..._

"It doesn't matter. We won't leave without you."

Jason was so wrong. Of course they couldn't risk Atlantis' fate, even for Hercules. So much was at stake.

"You will." Cassandra's voice, no matter how soft and delicate it was, cut their argument short. "It is his fate to stay here and accomplish many exploits."

From the beginning, they were to abandon him here? It seemed so unfair. The Gods gave with one hand – Icarus – but took with the other. Pythagoras' tears were now rolling freely down his cheeks. "No, that can't be true."

Hercules wrapped him in a one arm hug and walked with him farther from the group. His own eyes shone with unshed tears. "Don't think it doesn't hurt me to abandon you, my friend. I'll miss your daily complaints," he said with a sad smile on his lips.

Through his tears, Pythagoras managed a chuckle. "And I'll miss starving while you're gambling our money."

"That's unfair! I was starving too, you know!"

They tried to laugh, but their usual banter had a bitter aftertaste. They ended up in each other's arms, sobbing over the end of their friendship.

"Be careful, Pythagoras. Colchis is full of danger, and I'll fear for you until I have words of Atlantis that Pasiphae is defeated."

Pythagoras nodded, his tears drying on his face. "You too, my friend. Don't let your pain quiet your instincts: she is not Medusa."

They shared one last hug, then Hercules and Pythagoras returned to the group. The older man embraced Jason. "Take care of Pythagoras, or I'll put a curse on you."

Burried between Hercules' large biceps, Jason sniffed and his voice quivered on his next words. "I'm sorry for killing Medusa."

"Don't mention it. I know it wasn't your decision."

Hercules turned towards Icarus and pointed at him with a threatening finger. "You! If you hurt Pythagoras..."

Icarus' cheeks flushed a bright red. He looked around at the group, surely wondering whether they all knew about his relationship with Pythagoras. "I won't! I swear!"

"Hercules!" Pythagoras scolded.

Hercules opened his palms in surrender. "Okay, I trust you."

.

Hercules said goodbye to the others and went back inside the forest. When his back disappeared in the shadows, Pythagoras cried again and, this time, it was Jason who comforted him, as well as he could as his own sorrow swallowed him up.


	17. Blue Yonder Part8

The mast's broken section was replaced shortly before dusk, and they all went back on board. When night fell, they retreated to their own room, but it wasn't long before Icarus decided that leaving Pythagoras alone after what had happened that day was beyond him. He waited for his father to be asleep and sneaked out of their cabin. He walked to the door of Pythagoras' room but didn't dare make a move at first. He could only imagine what Pythagoras was going through. The loss of a friend as important as Hercules surely had broken the man's heart. That would explain the way Pythagoras avoided him – and why he sought Jason's comfort instead of his, Icarus tried to convince himself. Would he accept his presence now ?

He finally knocked on the door. A feeble answer, barely more than a whisper, came from inside. « Yes ? »

« It's me, » Icarus replied.

The answer came right away, but wet and low. « Come in. »

Icarus opened the door and peeked around. « Are you okay ? »

« I wouldn't mind some company, » Pythagoras answered. The forced smile drenched in tears told everything Icarus needed to know about his lover's emotional state.

Lover... If the word was the first to come to Icarus' mind, it felt like a spring flower : beautiful, though fragile, and soon gone. Icarus hoped for the best, but the way their relationship had started didn't help. Betrayed by a friend, abandoned by another, it was a wonder Pythagoras could still manage any kind of smile. Shards of sadness pierced Icarus' heart.

Icarus went in and closed the door behind him. As soon as they were side by side on the bed, Pythagoras burried his face in Icarus' shoulder and sobbed loudly. At a loss, Icarus hugged him tightly without a word and ran his fingers through Pythagoras' hair. Eventually, he whispered. « Do you want to talk about it ? » Icarus felt more than he saw Pythagoras shaking his head. « Okay. What do you want, then ? »

Pythagoras looked up at him with red eyes. « Hold me. »

The plea shook him to his core. He had wanted nothing more for many years, and a pinch of arousal seasoned his rational thoughts. When his body stirred toward Pythagoras, guilt awashed him instantly. The purest heart in the world yearned for him, but he couldn't let his body take the lead. « Are you sure ? » Icarus wasn't. He didn't want to take advantage of the man he loved in this state of mind.

Pythagoras' only answer was to cup Icarus' face and kiss him. The taste of desperation on his lips made Icarus lose it. He would offer Pythagoras what he needed, no matter the consequences. If Pythagoras hated him afterwards, it was more than he deserved.

Morning found them huddled together in bed, limbs entangled, their clothes in a heap on the floor. The brightness of the smiles they displayed could compete with the rising sun.

.

In their room, Jason and Ariadne didn't even share a bed. Not that Jason didn't want to. Staying away from Ariadne proved to be much harder than he had thought. She had opened up to him a little after the storm – she had been so scared that she had needed Jason for a while afterwards – but it wasn't even close to what they had known before... Before he fucked up prodigiously.

He rolled over on his side and looked at the peaceful figure of Ariadne. She looked so beautiful without the frown she displayed when talking to him lately. Her caramel skin glowed in the morning light, a shine highlighting the curve of a shoulder, the sharpness of a cheekbone. His heart fluttered just looking at her.

But even now, in the back of his mind, the memory of kissing Medea – of desiring Medea – was poisoning the quiet river of his feelings. He groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "Gods, why are you playing with me ?" he asked in a low voice.

"Did you say something ?" Ariadne mumbled sleepily from his left.

He turned his head to her. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

She smiled – at him, for the first time in a too long time – and stretched her limbs. "No, it's okay. I have a breakfast to make."

When she dressed, he didn't turn around, and she didn't mind.

They were on the path to forgiveness, but it was paved with hot coal and lined with brambles.

.

Screams of terror and agony came from the streets below the palace, and they were music to her ears. Satisfied, she smiled, but the burned side of her face stretched painfully. She groaned. Pain in others was much more palatable than her own, she had noticed. Her hand instinctively flew to her chest, where she could still feel the cold metal of the sword that Hercules had plunged in her flesh. A coldness that resonated with her heart's, new and foreign.

One could argue that her heart had always been this way, but until recently, she had been filled with passion. For power, for control. For people : the strength of her hate had no boundaries. Everything had changed when she had tried to open up to her son, and when Jason had betrayed her when deciding her death. The sword had missed her heart by quite a few inches, but it had pierced it nonetheless, and now she did things by force of habit. Passion had disappeared from her heart, probably forever.

She would still assume her role as Atlantis's Queen, and she would bend the will of its people, no matter what it took. She closed her eyes and once again thanked Hecate for resuscitating her. Now she could fulfill the destiny that was always hers.

She had decided quite early that she would do anything to gain power.

Hidden behind a curtain, she had listened to her older brother's lesson eagerly, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. Aetes studied politics and military strategy, while their sister Circe learned what was needed to become a good Queen. Jealousy burned in Pasiphae's chest as she glared at the bored face of her brother. _You don't deserve your fate_.

A hand seized her ear and squeezed hard. She squeaked and tried to free herself from the painful hold.

"Pasiphae ! What are you doing here ?" Her tutor, a grey haired woman with a strangely smooth and ageless face was looking at her with disdainful eyes.

She didn't need to explain her motivation : her tutor would never get it. The woman looked so proud of teaching music and poetry, all useless subjects for anyone who planned on becoming the ruler of a city – of a country, if one could dream. Pasiphae frowned at her tutor despite the pain in her ear – she could feel it swelling already, and she guessed it was as red as a tomato.

The things she'd learned that day before she was caught, though, were worth ten hits with a stick on her plump bottom. Plus, she exacted revenge with Hecate's help when, the next day, her tutor called sick because her face was covered with red pimples. The cold hard stare of her mother during dinner told Pasiphae that she knew she had something to do with the old woman's condition, but she smiled defiantly. Why teaching her magic and curses if she wasn't supposed to use them ?

Her hold on Hecate's powers wasn't strong enough yet, and it took her tutor less than three days to come back to work, mistrust plainly visible in her eyes.

To think she could now ask Hecate to give her back her life... Though not exactly like nothing happened. She touched her burned cheek and winced.

The door to the hall opened suddenly on General... what's-his-name. Lately, she had changed her second in command so often she couldn't remember their name anymore. Some had betrayed her, others had failed to complete a simple task. Finding someone reliable was becoming more and more difficult as she went down the hierarchy scale of her army.

She barely glanced at him before turning to her window again. "What is it ?"

By now the man would be on his knee, she knew it without looking at him. Always so obedient. And so incompetent if only their skills could equal their devotion... "We've had news from Arctonessus. There was a battle against the Gegenees."

Pasiphae rolled her eyes. "What else is new ? Cizycus has been fighting off those giants since forever, probably." She remembered many conversations with Minos where he talked about his old friend's burden., while she would try not to die of boredom. To each their own, she thought. Her burdens were a weak husband and an annoying step-daughter, both obstacles she needed to eliminate to accomplish her destiny.

Ten years later, and she had succeeded. Minos was long dead, and Ariadne would never come back to Atlantis. She may even be dead too. Unless...

"There were words of someone looking like Jason helping King Cizycus." Her Gereral lowered his eyes while his skin turned pale as milk.

Pasiphae relished the deep scars that the fear she instilled created on her people's face : the perpetual frown, the quivering lips. The famished look of someone who forgot to eat because they were too scared that the end of their time was near to really enjoy what was left of it.

Her General was in no way responsible for what had happened in Arctonessus, but she needed to vent her anger. With barely a wave of her hand, she unleashed her power and squeezed his throat without touching him. From white, he turned quickly to pink, then to scarlet. "What are you still doing here, then ? Isn't capturing Jason your sacred duty ? You should already be on a boat with half of the army."

She could feel her General's struggle to breathe and speak, but she had no interest for it. She released him. "Go, and find a messenger. The fastest the better." He wasted no time and ran out of the room.

"There's only one reason you went there, Jason," she said to the night. "I'll make sure that your dear uncle will welcome you as it fits."

She laughed at the full moon.


End file.
